
VIRGINIA 
VAUGHAN 

RICHARD 



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VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

A ROMANCE IN VERSE 

BY 

MARGARET A. RICHARD 



''How doth the book begin, go on and end? 
''It Hath a plan, no plot: life hath none." 

— Bailey 




BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

Vte ^octant $ress 

1907 



Copyright 1906 by Margaret A. Richard 



All Rights Reserved 



LIBRAaY of CONGRESS 
Two CoDles Received 
FEB 19 190? 

^Uotyrlght Enbv ^' 

CUSS A XXc, No, 



-yg^s^r 



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The Gorham Press, Boston 



To My Mother 



CONTENTS 

BOOK ONE 



Friendship 



BOOK TWO 

Love ...... . , 43 

BOOK THREE 

Marriage ....... 79 

BOOK FOUR 

Death II7 



FRIENDSHIP 



" Great souls by instinct to each other turn, 
Demand alliance, and in friendship burn." 

— Addison. 



BOOK I 



It was a pleasant room in which to wait, 
As Leon Grey, while waiting there, perceived ; 
A restful room, in blue and gold and white, 
With muslin curtains moving noiselessly 
As breezes from the near by fields stole in. 
And frolicked in their folds ; a tasteful room, 
With not too little nor too much therein, 
And not an object breathing forth discord. 
Of which a critic might complain : "Too rich 
Is this for its companion ornaments 
Thus put to shame:" or, "Rather heavy this, 
And out of true proportion to the things 
Surrounding." 

Woman's eye and heart and hand 
Had all been there, as any might discern : 
An eye to truly see, a heart to feel, 
A hand to do, combining to make up 
A place not beautiful alone, but full 
Of sweet suggestion, as though something said 
To him who entered : " A most blessed calm 
Abides within these walls, though men toil on. 
And storms beat still, out in the world. " 

The walls 
Were hung with pictures, such as one endowed 
As artist or as poet would select, 
Since they appealed to souls attuned (as souls 
Of poets are) to all true harmony ; 
To souls awake (as is the artist's soul) 
To all that's beautiful. 



8 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

A few there are 
God sets apart from ordinary men, 
And makes them poet-artists, who create 
Work some call pictures, and some, poems ; while 
Still others, who love both through knowing both, 
Declare them picture-poems, as they are. 
The shallow half believe they understand, 
And cry: "How lovely!" "Oh, sublime — sub- 
lime!" 
Then pass to something wholly lacking worth, 
Again to cry: "Oh, lovely!" "Oh, sublime!" 
He with the poet-soul may speak no praise. 
Though something deep within him sees that 

which 
No eye can read, save his whose inmost self 
Responds to that which made the canvas breathe ; 
A something more than form and color, aye. 
And more than light and shadow, though,in truth, 
'Twere nothing without these. He feels himself 
Has found expression thus through other hands. 
Nor deems it strange another seemed to know 
His thought, and did the thing he might have done 
Had he that other's genius and true skill. 
For painters, aye, and poets, be they true, 
Interpret, in some measure, man to man 
As they do God to man. And if we read 
Some sentiment so comprehensively 
That it seems but to echo our own thought. 
We're poets, too, though we nor paint nor rhyme. 

It was the pictures, more than all, that made 
The young man willing to await that mom 
The advent of his hostess. 

"Take your time. 
My lady, " soft said he, "nor deem you are 
A stranger to the guest who waits, sometimes, 



FRIENDSHIP 9 

Among the things you love, and finds in them 
The thing you are. " 

Then softly Leon mused : 
"If beauty felt within makes beautiful 
The self without, Virginia Vaughn, meseems. 
Beyond the usual type of womanhood 
Is beautiful. And I, who ofttimes build 
Backgrounds upon my canvas for fair women, 
Now build a woman, in my dreams, to fit 
A fair background. The mistress of this place, 
Who understands so well, apparently. 
The best arrangement of her furniture 
And bric-a-brac, knows too, I dare assume. 
The setting that becomes herself the best. 
Blue eyes look bluer still when they reflect 
The color of these walls ; and golden hair, 
Or hair of auburn tint, would well contrast 
With the blue velvet of this restful couch. 
I guess, therefore, her dreamful eyes are blue ; 
Her hair agleam with gold. And she — ah, well, 
A poet such as she could but be tall, 
And graceful as the rhythm of her smooth verse. " 

The while he mused, he moved about the room, 

Examining the pictures on the wall. 

Then pausing, thus the man soliloquized : 

' ' Ah, Leon Grey, let not yourself be proud 

Because a poet true thought fit to place 

Within her sight, a canvas covered o'er 

With hues that once lay on your palette ! She, 

Perhaps, came by it not because she would. 

But that another chose it should be hers ; 

Oft other things than greatness men find thrust 

Upon them ; even poets would refrain. 

Through kindness, from refusing well-meant gifts, 

Howe'er ill-chosen. " 



10 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Through the open door 
The young man saw a wheel-chair in the hall, 
And said within himself : "A sufferer dwells 
Within these walls, which adds another grace 
Unto mine unknown lady. Women, I 
Have oft observed, who tend afflicted ones. 
Learn how to modulate the voice to tones 
More soft and sweet, and they grow sweeter faced 
Through sympathy with pain. Oft helplessness 
In those they love, awakes the mother-heart 
In virgins, e'en, and makes them tender-wise 
As mothers." 

On the stairway in the hall 
He heard a step. 'Twas not the tread of one 
Soft shod or light upon her feet, and he 
Was thus aroused from his deep reverie. 
Was, then, the poet such an Amazon 
His vision of her need take flight, like bird 
Affrighted, at the sound of her foot-step? 

"En wuz I easy den, meh honey?" 

'Twas 
A negro woman spoke, in voice as soft 
As is the dove's low cooing; such a voice 
As ladies well might imitate who grace 
Fine parlors with soft manners ; and disgrace 
Them with harsh voices. 

Kindly one replied : 
"You're always gentle, Leah. You may now 
Go back upstairs, and sweep and dust the rooms; 
I shall not need you for a little while. " 

Then framed within the doorway, Grey beheld 

One whom he scarce knew if to designate 

As child or woman, though no child such eyes 



FRIENDSHIP 11 

Could have, that seemed to say : "I deeply see, 
And long have seen thus deeply. " Leon thought 
Of that Madonna Sichel painted, which 
Has eyes as deep and sweet as were Virginia's ; 
Such speaking eyes, in which one seems to read : 
' ' I look forth bravely from a soul that feels 
More deeply and more sadly than most souls, 
Yet must bear more ; a soul foredoomed to grief. 
Yet blessed with an abiding peace and poise 
That keeps me calm." 

The artist ne'er had seen 
A woman gowned as was Miss Vaughn that day ; 
She wore a garment of material 
Both light and soft, that seemed to Leon like 
The dresses children wear. It was, in truth, 
An empire gown, with alterations such 
As made it more childlike, while not a whit 
Less womanly. About her slender form. 
Close up beneath the arms, a sash was brought, 
And, from a bow at her left side, its ends 
Reached down until the silken fringe on them 
Was even with the edge of her long skirt. 
Her hair was merely parted, and in waves. 
Blue-black, hung unconfined quite to her knees. 
So might a dainty child look who had donned 
A long dress to play lady, and forgot 
That ladies' tresses are not worn unbound. 
However long and soft. 

The young man bowed. 
And asked as he advanced toward her: "Miss 
Vaughn?" 

"Aye, Sir, Virginia Vaughn, " she made reply. 
And, with a smile, extended her white hand 
As frankly as she were, indeed, the child 
She so resembled. 



12 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Leon, leading her 
To the most restful chair within the room, 
Remembered how he dreamed, awhile before, 
It was, perhaps, ofttimes the resting place 
For one whose auburn hair had golden gleams ; j 
Whose form was tall and strong and straight. 

"And straight?" 
It was not so ; for, as Virginia turned 
To seat herself, her visitor saw why 
She chose to dress unlike her sisterhood ; 
Why such deep sadness brooded in her eyes; 
He saw, and grieved, alas ! to see, that she 
Who loved so well true beauty in all things, 
Was moulded in a form unbeautiful. 
Upon her shoulders, young and delicate, 
A burden he beheld; one that, he knew, 
Lay heavily, and might not be removed, 
Though she should live long years beyond the time 
Allotted man. Was it, then, to conceal 
This throbbing thing (a burden on her heart 
As well as on her back) God graciously 
Dropped over it a veil so glorious ? 

Her hand, so small and white, in his lay cold, 
Although the day was warm, when Leon led 
Her to her chair. He felt within himself 
A wish to close enfold it, with its mate, 
In his warm palms, until the blood in them 
Ran warm with youthful life, as his blood ran. 
For he remembered when he once, while still 
A little lad, to his fond mother came. 
Complaining of the cold: "Jack Frost bites 

hard — 
So hard it hurts !" And she, with loving grace, 
Knelt on the rug before the fire, and hid 



FRIENDSHIP 13 

His fingers in her hands the while she laughed : 
"Ten little red birds in a downy nest — 
Now blow, oh, South Wind, softly blow on them, 
And make them warm!" Then she blew her 

sweet breath 
(A warm, warm zephyr from the balmy south). 
Upon his hands, till they felt chill no more 
Than fledglings do beneath their mother's wings. 
"Now fly, " she cried, "my pretty red, red birds, 
From your warm, downy nest ! Fly far, be glad, 
But come again, when cold or weary, back 
To shelter." 

Leon's hands, had he played now 
That childish game, had been a nest for birds 
White as white flowers, fragile as birds unfledged 
Still in the home nest. Had Virginia known 
This fancy of his mind, she would, perhaps. 
Have asked : ' ' Do men, then, have such thoughts 

as we. 
Glad children and sad poets (poets are 
Child- hearted save in gladness) put to use 
In play and rhyme?" But knowing not, she said, 
Her full eyes fixed on his : "I fear you have 
Grown tired, sir; 'tis wearisome to wait." 

"Not here, " and he encircled with a glance 
The pictured walls. "To wait in such a room 
Affords one pleasure, though he wait, as I, 
To greet a poet whose melodious songs 
Have touched his soul." 

Virginia bowed her thanks, 
And Leon Grey continued, smilingly: 
"Yet you are, doubtless, used to compliments, 
And hear your poems praised as frequently 
As most of us must hear the weather blamed. " 



14 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

"I've not heard spoken praise enough," she 

smiled, 
"To call it common." 

"Your community, 
One therefore would surmise, must be composed 
Of beings dumb? — so partially, at least. " 

"Not dumb concerning much, " she made reply, 
"Though so concerning books; they needs must 

be 
Who know them not. And why should I com- 
plain 
Because my friends peruse not what I write? 
That my imperfect pen makes no appeal 
To those who know me best, scarce signifies 
My friends as friends are failures. We must learn. 
Who write for publication, to expect 
Appreciation more from those afar, 
To whom ourselves are strangers, rather than 
From nearer, dearer ones we fain would please. " 
She spoke half lightly, and a smile played round 
Her coral lips, but did not brighten once 
Her dark, grave eyes. (Eyes are more true than 

lips 
In this, at least : they cannot smile when they 
Would speak for saddened hearts.) And in a 

flash. 
The man divined her poet-soul felt need 
Of true companionship, though with light words 
She tried to veil the truth. 

' ' Ofttimes our friends 
Seem not to realize, " he answered her, 
"That we who dedicate our lives to art. 
Put, verily, ourselves into our work ; 
And if our art is little known to tliem. 
Ourselves are, too, and they love rather that 



FRIENDSHIP 15 

We seem to be, than that we really are. " 

"You, too, no doubt, have had experience," 
She smiled. "And yet, methinks, your work 

appeals 
More strongly than does mine, to men ; for scores 
Admire both form and color, to whom words 
Are lifeless things. Why, even children, still 
Untaught, look on a picture with glad eyes, 
Exclaiming : ' Pretty ! ' And adults can scarce 
Be blinded to the beauty children see — 
Though but in part." 

"Aye, but in part, as all 
Perceive, who look for form and color only ! 
Who sees but these, sees scarcely more than one 
Who reads a verse, nor truly comprehends 
The sentiment ; to such, words are but words. 
'Tis true most people love to look on pictures. 
Yet many read your book, which finds its way 
To homes both far and near, where one beholds 
My picture. That, howe'er, is not the point : 
I grant an artist's friends more apt to be 
Acquainted with his work, than poets' friends, 
With theirs. But think. Miss Vaughn: it takes 

less time 
To look upon a picture on a wall. 
Than read a volume through, from back to back. " 

"Yet you," she interposed, "who hitherto 
Have rendered that which shall more readily 
With recognition meet, now condescend 
To hide, between the covers of a book, 
Creations of your brush. " 

' ' We none create, 
In one sense of the word, " protested he. 



16 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

" It is the part of true art to construe 
The Lord's creations. " 

"You speak truly, Sir, " 
And she bowed gravely. ' ' We forget, sometimes, 
We're human, and but follow after God 
Both in conception and achievement- He 
With power so God-like thrills our higher selves 
In highest moments. Could we always walk 
Upon that noble height we sometimes reach, 
How near divine were we!" 

"And yet," he mused, 
' ' Unto what depths the noblest sometimes sink ! 
And they who climb the highest, feel it most 
That they must evermore descend, and walk 
More oft along the lowly, shadowed vale 
Than on the gleaming height. " 

"Let us be glad," 
Virginia, clasping her fair hands, implored, 
"Not only that we do, though seldom times, 
Attain the heights, but that 'tis given us 
To look up to them from the lowly vale 
Wherein we walk. But we meet not today 
To speak of high plateaus and lowly plains : 
It surely does me honor that one whom 
My father praised, while I was yet a child, 
As artist likely to attain the heights, 
Should now consent to illustrate a book 
From my poor pen. My father, if he knows, 
(And think you not departed spirits are 
Oft mindful of us here?) is glad with me. " 

The words touched Leon as no words of praise 
Had touched him hitherto, e'en while he felt 
Unworthy of them. 

' ' Also, I am pleased 
Your publishers made this request of me ; 



FRIENDSHIP 17 

For, in its first edition, I have read 

Your poem, more than once, and am not bhnd 

To pictures therein Hmned by your true pen ; 

Word-pictures whose companion piece 

One could dehght to paint, with his best brush. " 

"Grave pictures, some of them, I fear," she sighed ; 
"I'd none to whom I might submit my work. 
And ask: 'Is this too sad a thing for truth?' " 

Her guest arose, and through the window looked 
Upon a summer landscape, calm and still, 
Divining that Virginia Vaughn, so small 
To look upon, yet large to feel and love. 
Knew lack of love, and so was sorrowful 
With sorrow endless as seems life on earth 
To those who love it not. But Leon Grey 
IvOved life, for it had been most kind to him, 
Save for a brief, sad while in early youth. 
And he had reason to rejoice that Hope, 
By being shattered, proved deliverance 
From after misery. We should be glad. 
We who are prone to magnify sad truths : 
There are glad "might-have-beens" in every life, 
And much we lose, we live to count well lost. 

Strong men, it has for ages been agreed, 

Are tenderest of heart, and Leon none 

Would name a weakling. In his soul awoke 

Compassion for Virginia, not alone 

Because she was a woman, but one bom 

To suflfer, though in her the child still lived. 

He wished child-likeness and child-gladness might 

Walk hand in hand together, joyous twins 

Forever on life's path. He was not free, 

Alas ! to speak the sympathy he felt, 



18 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

And so he lightly said, to hide from her 
What filled his heart : ' ' How fair a scene you may 
Look daily on, Miss Vaughn ! No city walls 
Shut from your view the ever changing sky, 
And those far hills and nearer fields it smiles 
Or frowns upon, according to its mood. " 

Virginia rose, and, going to his side, 

Also looked out upon the smiling scene. 

Had he outstretched his arm, she might have stood 

Beneath it, her dark head not touching quite 

His outheld hand. "I love the sky," she said, 

' ' And, could I always have my will as now. 

Would never live again within the town. 

Where structures high, and oft unbeautiful, 

Would stand between me and the canopy 

God stretched o'erhead. I've room for breathing 

here. 
For freedom, and for — growth. " 

Upon tiptoe. 
For one brief moment, she arose, her arms 
Upraised, as though to signify she thus 
Would rise to larger stature, by and by. 
So might a little child, with hands upheld 
As far above his head as he could reach, 
Make boast: "I shall be tall as that some day!" 
But Leon knew 'twas spirit-growth she meant. 
And that her soul toward higher things must needs 
Aspire, although her mortal self were slain 
Through her soul's aspiration. Then she spoke, 
Her feet descending to a level plane — 
As did her thought — once more, of how the crops 
Were suffering for rain, and would respond 
Most gladly to a shower ; how the fruit 
Was more abundant than it was the year • 
Preceding, for which truly she gave thanks. 



FRIENDSHIP 19 

"And you," asked Leon, "are a farmer, too, 
As well as poet?" 

' ' In true love of all 
Pertaining to the soil, I am, indeed. 
And could but be, for such my neighbors are, 
Who thus earn that which keeps together here 
The body and the spirit for awhile. 
It is the life I like the best of all, 
So free, — so independent of mankind. 
Yet, plainly, so dependent upon God. 
For men say not unto the farmer, 'Go' 
Or 'Come,' at their sweet will. If he his day 
Of toil begin more early than most do, 
'Tis not because one drives him forth, 
But that successive seasons, each in turn. 
Declare what tasks await for him to do. 
Thus speaking for the One whose voice they are. 
And he must labor as the seasons bid ; 
Must plough and plant, and plough again, and 

reap 
And gamer in, according to the will 
Of Him who wisely rules the elements 
Of all the worlds, if he would bring his fields 
To glad fruition. " 

"Therefore," Leon said, 
"The farmer better reads the changing face 
Of nature than most do. He sees revealed 
Through her thin veil (not thin, howe'er, to those 
Of poorer sight) some truths concerning her 
That we see not. And well for him 'tis so : 
For none beside, unless it be, forsooth, 
The sailor on the sea, so needs to read 
Her prophecies aright. To some, a cloud 
Is but a cloud ; a pretty thing to look 
Upon the while it slowly floats o'erhead. 
With varying form ; now like a graceful swan, 



20 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Snow-white; and now, an iceburg on the sea; 
And now, an angel reaching down and down, 
As though — they look no more! E'en changeful 

clouds 
Hold not for long, men's roving, restless eyes. 
But to the farmer, whose parched lands contain 
Unnumbered multitudes of thirsty roots, 
A cloud may be a promise, from on high, 
Of bread to feed himself and family. 
And he discerns it while 'tis still afar, 
A tiny, floating speck one city bred 
Would scarcely see ; nor fears to prophesy. 
From the direction whence it comes, as well 
As other signs found true, if rain will fall 
Ere noon or night, or if the cloud will pass. 
And bear the blessing far, to regions strange. " 

Virginia's eyes grew bright as she exclaimed : 
' ' You know and love the country even as I ! 
And yet, before you came, I was afraid 
You'd find our quiet life monotonous. " 

"My father was a farmer, " he replied, 

"And I was bom and bred a country lad. " 

" Things are reversed with us, " the lady mused ; 

"I was a little city child, and now 

Dwell far from scenes of active life ; while you, 

A boy bred in the country, spend the years 

Of manhood 'mid the busy haunts of men. 

How strange the changes that into most lives 

Come thus with time ! And yet, it seems, they 

come 
In ways so natural, we sometimes feel 
Life had been stranger still had they not come. " 

"True, life is strange," her visitor replied, 



FRIENDSHIP 21 

' ' But strange not altogether, we concede 
Who find it sweet. " 

"Aye, sometimes sweet, but sad 
More oft than sweet," Virginia said. Then 

smiled, 
Her hands outstretched impulsively, her mood 
Quickly transformed. ' ' Regarding changes, who — 
Long years ago — imagined I today 
Would own those near-by fields, and would collect 
From them, each autumn-tide, sufficient rent 
To — buy my dresses with!" 

The young man laughed : 
" 'Tis not a princely fortune, certainly! 
Not much more than your childhood's wealth: 

for then. 
Your dresses came unbought, for aught you knew, 
And pleased you no less well because 'twas so. " 

The girl, grown grave again, told presently 
Of those despairing days, eight years before, 
When she awoke at last from the first shock 
Her mother's death had caused, to realize 
She was alone, with never kith nor kin 
In all the world, of whom she might expect 
The temporary aid of bed or board. 

"And all the heart within me turned, " she said, 
"With longing toward the open, kindly skies 
That would, with silent sympathy, look down. 
Nor ask how I endured life thus bereaved. 
Nor if my loneliness were hard to bear, 
As mortals sometimes do. And so a friend — 
The best I had (he was my teacher once) — 
Found this fair spot, which since has been my 

home. 
And is the more beloved because 'twas he 



22 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Made the selection." 

Leon drew her chair 
Before the open window, bidding her 
To seat herself, and so reserve her strength 
For tasks that would engage the two ere long. 
"For I, " he warned, and as he spoke, his eyes. 
As if to contradict the words he said, 
With laughter twinkled, "tolerate in those 
Whose tasks are one with mine, no idleness 
Nor dallying, though they would rest or dream. " 

"But oftentimes, " she claimed, the while she sank 
Among the cushions of the chair he brought, 
"The weary one finds rest — from weariness 
Of mind, at least — in work ; and he who knows 
Rest both of mind and heart, will not remain 
Long weary bodily. And dreamers, who 
But toil because they must, do not, I hold, 
Yield of necessity their dreams ; for men 
May dream while the)^ are working, and make 

sweet 
Their daily task that else had not been so. 
Then, please, " and she held out her hands, palms 

up. 
To her companion, smilingly, as though 
With earnestness and strong glad faith she prayed 
Some precious boon, "withhold not work from 

me!" 

"Believe me, " Leon laughed, "a few days hence 

Those lips, that now so eagerly implore 

For work, will cry, 'Enough!' Those pleading 

hands. 
Today for tasks so ready, will not scorn 
To fold themselves in restful idleness. " 



FRIENDSHIP 23 

"Do artists, then," she queried, as though half 

BeHeving what he said, ' ' demand so much 

Of those whose books they illustrate? You see, " 

She did not pause for a response, but thus 

Went on in explanation of her need 

Of knowledge on that score, "naught heretofore 

That I have done, has won embellishment 

Of artists' brush or pen, and I, therefore. 

Know not the part expected now of me." 

"Myself must plead, " so Leon made reply, 
"To ignorance, too, if we regard alone 
Experience like to this: For ne'er before 
Have I received commission thus to paint, 
From nature, scenes described in any book 
Of prose or verse. It seems to me, perhaps 
The author's part would merely be to point 
Out such and such a place, as having led 
To such and such a sentiment expressed 
Within the book. So might the painter's mood. 
Adaptive to his art, with truth respond 
Unto the poet's mood, enabling him 
To paint a picture with such atmosphere 
As would suggest the thought she had expressed. " 

"Ah, that were easy done! More easy done," 
Virginia smiled, "than that those ask who bring 
A poet's book, fresh from the press, to him. 
To read therefrom aloud, and make request: 
'Now what inspired this thought?' or, 'How came 

you 
By such conception as this theme reveals?' 
Ignoring that the poet often builds 
His sweetest songs of sorrows he has known, 
And may not take such poems thus apart 
Without deep probing, till it bleeds anew, 



24 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Some unhealed wound; and songs that most 

appeal 
To hearts of men, are songs thus bom of pain 
In sorrow's night. But scenes his pen describes, 
Though felt within the soul, as beauty is, 
And can but be by those who truly see, 
Are not a very part of self, and he 
May point thereto, nor fear to thus betray 
The joy or grief deep buried in his breast. " 

"At least, " and Leon smiled, "may one not ask, 
And not offend, a poet how she came 
To choose a certain story as the cord 
Whereon to string her gleaming pearls of thought ? 
For, peradventure, many stories told 
In verse have little plot, and scarce are more 
Than threads, that serve to hold upon themselves 
Rare gems of truth. But, serving end so good, 
They should be never overlooked by those 
Who treasure pearls. I truly treasure them, 
Yet now make no inquiry where you found 
This one ; nor why that one has lustre quite 
Beyond its mates ; nor why yon noble one 
Thrills all my heart, yet bids me not forget 
Pearls ne'er would be if wounds, alas ! were not. 
But I would ask, whence came the cord on which, 
With taste and care exquisite, you arranged 
The peerless gems found in your latest book?" 

"Ah, thereby hangs a little story, " she 
Made ready answer, "whose unfoldment will 
Disclose me as a bard who borrowed theme 
To set to music ! Ere we have achieved 
Or fame or money, some, believing they 
Were bom to wield great pens, submit to us 
Examples of their work. One who had read 



FRIENDSHIP 25 

My printed thoughts since first I launched them 

forth 
Upon the world, enclosed to me a verse 
Her hand had penned, requesting me to say 
If it were meritorious, or not. 

'Twas short, and crudely were the thoughts ex- 
pressed, 
As though the mind in which they were conceived 
Had mastered not the rules of prosody, 
Or scorned to use them. 

'Word and form,' to her 
I frankly wrote, 'are far inferior 
To thought and spirit ; yet a homely phrase 
May spoil a pretty thought ; an ugly form. 
Conceal a lovely spirit. You might well, 
1 think, reclothe so worthy a brain-child 
In worthier garb.' 

Returning then the lines, 
I failed to note that one fine thought they held 
Had deeply taken root within my mind 
To grow and bloom, until a fragrance, sweet 
As dew- wet roses are, thrilled all my soul 
With new delight. Then, as within myself 
I felt the wish to share this gift with men, 
The memory came that 'twas not mine, alas! 
To spread abroad. I kept the theme two years 
Imprisoned, though it struggled more and more 
For light and freedom. Then the idea came 
To make inquiry of that one whose thought 
Was thus suggestive, if it had been used, 
Or yet would be ; if not, then might not I 
Enlarge upon and use it as I would? 

"She wrote at once, a long kind letter; she '^^ ] 
Had never used, and never would , she said, 
The verses sent to me for criticism; 



26 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

She now was wife and mother, and since God 
Enriched her thus, she had nor wish nor time 
To poetize. 

'The while I write,' she said, 
T hold a perfect poem to my breast — 
My babe beloved — the beating of whose heart 
Makes truer rhythm and purer melody 
Than words were ever set to. Could you see 
My darling now, in her white, lace trimmed dress. 
I think you would concede I clothe my child 
More tastefully than ever I clothed thoughts 
In dreamful, idle days. And you, I hope, 
Would take it not amiss (so sweet she is !) 
That she is called Virginia, after you.' " 

As she concluded, through the house was borne 
The silver tinkle of the dinner bell. 
The girl arose, and to the dining room 
Invited the young man. Here they were met 
By an old lady, whom she introduced 
As her grand-aunt. 

" 'Tis Mister Grey, Aunt Jane," 
She said in louder tones than she had used 
When speaking to her guest. "I told you. Aunt, 
That he was coming." 

"Eh? Who's coming, dear?" 
Miss Jane bowed hurriedly, as if surprised 
To see the young man there, then fixed her eyes 
Upon the door, expectantly. 

"No one." 
Virginia laid a hand upon her aunt's. 
Thus to attract attention to herself. 
"I told you 'tis the artist — Mister Grey — 
Come from the city. " 

"Ah, 'tis pity, Sir, 
You lost your way far from the city !" 



FRIENDSHIP 27 

"No, 
Oh, no, dear aunt! Be seated. Mister Grey; 
She will, no doubt, remember presently 
You were to come today. "' 

The three then sat 
About the table, Leah standing by 
To wait upon them, and to keep away. 
With waving brush of pea-fowl plumes, the flies 
That sought the table. Freely flowed converse 
Between the two young people, while each turned. 
Now and anon, to make some kind remark 
To the good dame, from pleasant intercourse 
With others kept imprisoned by the veil 
Of silence that enshrouded her always. 
And she, delighted with the deference paid 
By the young man, warmed to him more and more. 
Once, turning toward her niece, she made remark : 
"You see, my dear, I'm not so very deaf; 
I hear quite clearly anyone who speaks 
In but an ordinary tone, if he 
But speak distinctly, as does Mister Grey. 
Some scream at me, as if they think me deaf, 
When I am but a little hard to hear. " 

Though only with an efi"ort he refrained 
From smiling, since so very well he knew 
'Twas far from ordinary tone in which 
He had addressed the lady, her grand-niece 
But gravely bowed her head, nor seemed to see 
Cause for amusement. Came the time, ere he 
Departed, Leon also failed to mark 
The humor of like incidents, so oft 
They were repeated. Rather he observed 
Aunt Jane's affliction with sad pathos tinged 
Her own life and Virginia's, barring both 
From pleasure they had otherwise enjoyed 



28 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Together, and thereby condeming each 
To surer loneliness. 

When they arose 
To leave the dining room, the young man stood 
Beside the door, his hand upon the knob. 
Until the ladies should have passed without. 
As passed Miss Jane, he said some pleasant word, 
And offered, with a gesture, to assist 
Her to step down from the low sill that led 
Onto the porch. But she, nor hearing him 
Nor seeing, neither made response, nor gave 
Her hand into the one thus offered her. 
Virginia, hearing, seeing, as she walked 
Behind her aunt, looked up and brightly smiled 
As with amusement, yet with gratitude. 
Her glance expressing thanks for the young man's 
Attention to Miss Jane. 

' ' Will you ? " he asked, 
And offered his assistance now to her, 
Half laughing. 

But Virginia shook her head, 
Still brightly smiling : "We — my aunt and I — - 
Are not accustomed to the aid of knights, 
And bravely walk alone. " 

Unaided she 
Stepped from the door-sill, yet more languidly 
Than one, no doubt, less delicate had done. 

"But we," said Leon, as he slowly walked 
Beside her through the hall, "should never here 
Refuse or scorn the things that we are used 
To do without : It is not so we are 
Enlightened ; and not so we broaden life 
For self or brother." 

' ' But, " she made defense 



FRIENDSHIP 29 

Of her position, speaking for the sake 
Of argument, and not because she felt 
The truth of her assertion, ' ' 'tis no part, 
I think, of wisdom to partake of things 
We may, in future, not be nourished on ; 
For we may hunger for them, having learned 
To like their taste, and so grow discontent 
With ordinary fare we daily have. " 

' ' But hunger, " Leon said, "and discontent — 
A sort of hunger, too — must both be felt 
Ere we begin to strive for better things 
Than we have known." 

The trio reached the room 
Ere this was said, and when they had sat down. 
Miss Jane her knitting needles and her ball 
Of wool drew forth, and went at once to work 
As if she had not time for idleness. 
Though in the presence of a stranger guest 
Whose character — so plainly was revealed, 
In look and word and deed, his genuine worth — 
She read aright. 

' ' Excuse me, Mister Grey, " 
She said, and stiffly bowed, "that I resume 
My homely task. One can accomplish much 
By making use of moments such as these 
In light work for the fingers; work that is 
Not so absorbing but it leaves one free 
To listen or converse. " 

"Believe me, now, " 
He hastened to reply, ' ' I like it so ; 
It makes me feel you treat me as you would 
A friend long known. " 

She smiled, yet with a look 
Of vague uncertainty upon her face, 
As though she doubted if she understood, 



30 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

But would not willingly betray the truth. 
Still smiling, to the task she had assumed 
She gave attention, and the gentleman, 
Now turning toward Virginia, made remark : 
"You have, I see, a picture that I made 
Some years ago, before my student days 
Were of the past." 

"Ah, yes, I've had it long! 
Yet I remember well the star-lit night 
My father brought that painting homxC, to hang 
Above the mantel in his study, he 
Thus saying: 'Men will hear from him whose 

hand 
Hath painted this.' I was then but a child. 
But I have not forgotten how his eyes 
Were sparkling in the lamplight as he praised 
His new-found gem ; or how his thin face glowed 
As he turned smilingly to me, and said : 
' 'Tis yours, Virginia, when I'm gone from you.' 

So much a child I was, that never thought 
Of separation from my father dear 
Had yet disturbed me, and I now inquired : 
Where are you going? Are you going right 
At once — today?' 

He laughed away miy fears 
With, 'not today, and not tomorrow, let 
Us trust, sweetheart.' 

'Because,' I said, 'if you 
Must go somewhere, I want to go with you. 
And you must take me, father. Won't you 

please?' 
And then he clasped me closly in his arms, 
And sighed: 'I wish I might, dear little child.' 
Next night my father died of hemorrhage, 
And since — for he was very dear to me — 



FRIENDSHIP 31 

I treasure what he loved. " 

Virginia spoke 
As of another, not as one who would 
Her own heart-wound lay bare, beseeching him 
To pity. Suffering and pain had been 
So truly interwoven, as it were. 
Into the fabric of her life, they were 
Part of her being, and unconsciously 
Found utterance. 

"Your mother — had you lost 
Her previously?" 

The poet turned on him 
A look more sad than that with which she had 
Just spoken of her father's death, and said, 
It seemed with some evasion: "She still lived. " 

She then arose and begged to be excused, 
That she might go away to rest awhile. 
"Aunt Jane," she said, "is too industrious 
To lay, thus early in the afternoon. 
Her work aside, and you may sit with her, 
Or else yourself retire for rest, as you 
Find pref'rable. " 

The young man rose, and stood 
Beside his chair till she had passed without. 
But first she paused beside her busy aunt, 
And laid a hand caressing on her arm 
As she bent down so say she was fatigued, 
And would retire apart from them awhile 
For needed rest. While to the words Miss Jane 
Made fit reply, she to the loving touch 
Was coldly unresponsive. And so passed 
Virginia out, a smile upon her lips, — 
A smile belied by her large, wistful eyes. 

Three hours thereafter they were met again, 



32 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Each having read or rested for a time 

In soUtude. It was the sunset hour, 

And from the western porch, where now they sat, 

They watched the peerless panoramic view 

Presented by the glowing evening sky. 

Beyond the cotton field in the foreground, 

A strip of woods stood guard, now bathed in gold 

From the warm glow of the descending sun. 

This had presented to the eye a straight. 

Unbroken sky-line, but that high above 

The trees composing it stood three tall pines, 

lyong dead, yet stately and majestic still. 

Through the top branches of the tallest one, 

There presently looked down fair Venus, then 

The star of evening. 

"Oh," Virginia cried, 
Who first discovered it, " 'I see a star,' 
(As sang our poet, the true-souled Timrod) 
'Betwixt the trees!' " 

And later, when she saw 
Another star stand high above the tree. 
She mused: "I read, in some stray magazine, 
A poem once, that told of how one watched 
Each night, with loving, longing eyes, a star 
Pure- white, and prayed to claim it for his own. 
He upward climbed, and upward still, but failed 
Forever to attain his heart's desire. 
At last one night while he, with pallid lips, 
Prayed earnestly to be resigned that it 
Might shine above him still, it downward fell 
From heaven — down and down — close to his feet. 
But fallen stars have not the lustre bright 
Of stars that shine o'erhead, and his heart broke 
Because his star fell, though for love of him. " 

"A pretty thought, and one embodying 



FRIENDSHIP 33 

A truth, " said Grey, "men oft see proved in life. '" 

"All poetry, I think, " the poet said, 
"Should be the true embodiment of truth; 
Or, that indeed, which might become the truth 
By high endeavor. So would poets teach 
Their fellowmen, arousing" oft their souls 
To aspiration. " 

"That," he answered, "is 
A high conception of the poet's part ; 
For if he point the way to even one. 
Or bid another upward lift his eyes 
To lovelier things in life, he has done well. 
But think, Miss Vaughn, what longing there must 

be 
In hearts of those 'mute' Miltons — so through 

stress 
Of circumstance — who feel vv^ithin themselves 
Thoughts high and holy as have yet been penned. 
Yet may not seek expression, being bound 
To sterner tasks ! Think you the thoughts of such 
Flow musical, although we know them not?" 

"Perhaps we know them," she said, simply, 

' ' though 
We fail to recognize their source. 'Think love'* 
A poet and philosopher has said, 
'Although you speak it not.' And she declares 
Our love will sometimes bless e'en those whose lives 
Touch not our own, and bear, from kindred souls, 
A blessing back to us. And so I say : 
'Think poetry, although you write it not;' 
Then let each 'mute, inglorious Milton' dream 
His dreams, and let his thoughts flow rythmical 
The while he trudges to or from the work 
*Ella Wheeler Wilcox 



34 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

'Tis his, in field or mill or mart, to do 

For daily bread. None with authority 

May designate as vain the untold thought ; 

For mind with mind communes, and, as none lives 

Unto himself, so it may be, none thinks. 

To me, it does not seem coincidence 

That authors far apart to the same truths 

Give utterance; or, that two artists paint 

Two pictures, each expressing that expressed 

By his contemporary ; or that songs 

Are similar in treatment and in theme. 

Though set to music by composers strange 

Each to the other. And be the thought conceived 

In mind of one who may expression give, 

Or mind of one who may not, does not make 

Grave difference, for thoughts have wings, and 

once 
Full-fledged they fly, we know not whither; 'far, 
Ofttimes, to other minds, that give them voice, 
And send them forth, with pow'r to speak or sing, 
Into the world. " 

The days of Leon's stay 
At lovely Laureldale passed busily 
And happily. Outdoors and in he worked, 
Now sketching hastily some woodland scene, 
With wish to get it on the canvas ere 
The lights and shadows changed ; and now indoors 
With care retouching it most leisurely, 
With that large patience those acquire who wed 
Themselves to art, for better or for worse, 
Till life be done. 

Virginia led the way 
To her loved haunts, with whose descriptions he 
Already was familiar, since they all 



FRIENDSHIP 35 

Were back-grounds for word- pictures in her book. 
Pushed in her wheel-chair by the colored nurse, 
She rode beside her guest down quiet lanes, 
'Neath waving, arching trees whose branches met 
And touched o'erhead, as reaching out to give 
Love greetings to each other, or to drop 
On men below a benediction sweet: 
Or now she led the way across the green 
And sunny pasture, where the browsing sheep 
A moment paused in their repast, to watch 
The little group go by; where gentle kine, 
Too, followed them with full and dewy eyes, 
As tender as are eyes that souls look through : 
Again, into the shadowed forest went 
The trio, pausing not nor wearying 
Till Leon's brush had reproduced the scenes 
Thus visited. 

The faithful Leah, while 
The artist worked, some distance from the two 
Remained, yet near enough to hear when called 
But softly. Oft she slumbered, but more oft 
Her thick lips moved in prayer, half audibly, 
For Leah was religious, and thus bore 
The names of her "white folks" to God in prayer 
"I done quit prayin' fo' de niggers," once 
She said, disdainfully. "Dey's so no 'count. 
En we des was'e our bref when we use win' 
Ter pray fo' dem what doan pray fo' deysel's. " 

Virginia wrote while Leon sketched ; or read ; 
Or crocheted on a scarlet shawl, the thread 
Of which fell o'er the back of her left hand, 
A streamlet flowing toward her ivory hook, 
Thus yielding freely its unmeasured length 
With generosity those rivers know 
That feed the sea. nor withhold self for fear 



36 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Their source may fail. To Leon, as he worked 
Apart from her a Httle space one mom, 
It seemed that thread was endless, and the hands 
Unwearying that wrought it into shape. 
When he had done his sketch, he moved and stood 
Beside her chair a moment, then stooped down, 
And caught the ball, which was of that red stream 
The source, in his two palms, and held it thus, 
So that no longer it would yield its length. 

"How can you bend your eyes to this, " he asked, 
' ' While leaves are softly rustling overhead. 
And sun-flecked shadows fall about your chair ; 
While, through the openings 'twixt the boughs 

above, 
A sky deep-blue — so deeply blue it seems 
'Twas doubly dyed for us this day — looks down 
Alluringly? I know not how you can. " 

"We sometimes see in spirit," she replied, 

"And so I have been seeing while I worked. 

Thus was I lost to my surroundings; though," 

She paused, and with a wave of her deft hand 

Included all the scene she looked upon, 

"This is as fair as worlds we see in dreams. 

But look ! — I was not merely using yam 

The while I worked: I fashioned shells, which, if 

Not perfect imitations of those made 

By nature, are yet like enough for one 

With mind imaginative, who sees them 

Not as they thus were made, but as they'd look 

Picked up from some bright, breezy ocean shore. 

My needle hurried less to make my shawl 

Grow larger, than to add unto my wealth 

Another and another pretty shell. 

I walked upon the sands beside the sea ; 



FRIENDSHIP 37 

I heard the murmurs of the restless waves ; 
I felt the sunshine drop upon my head 
Soft kisses. Seven stitches 'neath that stitch, 
The seventh fastened loosely, thus, that means 
A shell complete in my crochet ; but it 
Means more : It means I stooped just there, 
And found a treasure on my fair dream shore. 
And so I told you wrong when I declared, 
Just now, I fashioned shells: I gathered them. 
Blue-tinged and rosy hued. " 

' ' A dreamful mood ! ' ' 
The young man laughed. "Do ladies, I would 

ask. 
Whose hearts are not attuned to poesy, 
Thus idealize their tasks?" 

Her cheeks flushed red, 
As though she had been caught at something she 
Had better left undone. 

' ' 'Tis foolish, — yes. " 
She murmured, "and — " 

But Leon interposed : 
' ' Nay, nay, I said not so — I meant not so ! 
I hold them rich who sometimes lose themselves 
In blest imagined worlds, though they may own 
Nor gold nor lands. And I believe the men 
Who come most near to drinking of the fount 
Of youth perpetual, are those who hold 
Within themselves the power to slip apart, 
Ofttimes, to worlds of dreams, where they forget 
The trials they do daily bear, and feel 
Their hearts again beat high and burden-free. " 

"I tell not oft such fancies to my friends, " 
The girl acknowledged. "But I felt that you. 
Who are a dreamer, too, would understand. " 



38 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

' ' And if I am, " he smiled and turned to put 

His paints and brushes carefully in place, 

"I may not dream the morning all away — 

Though it were more than pleasant so to do — 

While work awaits. 'Tis only when we've earned 

Or rest or recreation, these give joy, 

And not till eventide shall I have time 

For dreaming dreams today. There still is much 

To be achieved before I leave for home, 

And ere the Sabbath dawns I must depart. " 

' ' So soon ? ' ' The artist saw a shadow pass 
Athwart the girl's expressive face, then flee 
Before the smile that followed ere her eyes 
Were turned to his. 

"Aye, even so!" he said. 
' ' I hope I shall be missed at Laureldale. " 

"You know," she answered, "who have dwelt 

awhile 
Beneath our roof, as one of us, that one 
Could hardly linger in our home for just 
A little space, and leaving, leave no void. 
And you must surely know your stay with us 
Has been a pleasure above that bestowed 
By ordinary guests : your mission here 
Had made it so for me, who so love art. 
Had not yourself been found congenial." 

The day he bade goodbye, as souvenir 
Of his sojourn beneath her roof, he gave 
Virginia Vaughn a water-color sketch. 
It reproduced a scene they two looked on 
One misty mom, and duly had admired. 
Through a gray mist, the clouds looked faintly 
pink, 



FRIENDSHIP 39 

A bride's blush softened by her flowing veil ; 

And though the features of the landscape were 

Not clearly to be seen, so true the sketch 

To nature, one had wondered not to see 

The mist arise, and slowly roll away. 

It spoke a promise ; none who looked on it 

But heard a voice breathe softly, sweetly, "Hope." 

Virginia gravely said 'twas similar 
To Corot's "Morning." Then spoke smilingly 
Thus to the donor: "Men of future times 
May claim one honors Corot, saying that. " 

He shook his head, and mused : "A Master, he !" 

"There may be artists with us now," she smiled, 
"Whom men of future times will recognize 
As masters. Why not you?" 

"Alas!" he cried, 
"That men know not, while still they live and 

work. 
If they be small or great. " 

"No, not 'alas,' " 
His listener demurred, and gravely smiled. 
' ' A man who knew himself for one whose name 
And work would live hereafter, might strive more 
For glory of his fame, than for the good 
Of men, and so fall short (now say 'alas!') 
Of the high stature that he might have reached 
Had he with less ambition wrought for self; 
With more, for men and God. " 

At eventide 
She stood alone upon the vine-clad porch. 
Her guest had gone ; Miss Jane dozed in her chair. 
Her knitting on her knee. The girl bent down, 



40 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

She scarce knew why, and pressed her pallid cheek 

Against a rose that budded since he came. 

And then she loosed the flower lovingly, 

And left it on its stem to shed abroad 

Its beauty and its fragrance yet awhile. 

"Oh, heart within," she whispered, and looked 

out 
Upon a scene he lately viewed with her, 
"IJfe's loneliness is hard ! We stand, sometimes, 
So far apart from those of kindred minds, — 
vSo far apart from those we know so near 
Ourselves in spirit, that soul touches soul. " 



LOVE 



"And love, life's fine centre, includes heart and 
mind." — Owen Meredith. 



BOOK II 

'Tis said the woman-poet for a world 

Of men writes not, but for some certain man 

Who makes her world. Though we concede not 

this 
Who hold there is no sex in art, and that 
The woman's motives and achievements may 
Be high as are her brother's, yet we know 
She cannot be so much a poet that 
The woman dies in her. And 'tis the way 
Of women, of whatever attitude 
Of mind they be, to lift their eyes to men 
More tall than they, or whom they think more tall ; 
And they resist nor need, nor tendency, 
To lean on strength more certain than their own, 
So weak they are at best. 

As passed the days 
Of summertide, Virginia to her work 
With quickened ardor bent, for she had found 
A new incentive. One who loved the best 
In poetry, had come in touch with her ; 
And coming, had awakened in her soul 
Chords slumb'ring hitherto ; her life and work 
Would, therefore, evermore vibrate to tones 
More resonant and sweet. He touched her not 
As breezes do the daisy on its stem. 
To sway it lightly, softly, to and fro. 
And then pass on to leave it motionless 
As 'twas before ; but as the sunrays touch 

43 



44 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

The rose, to linger there until 'tis warmed — 
Clear to the inmost heart — into a hue 
More deep and rich. 

Virginia had been warmed 
To her heart's core. Although she knew it not, 
She sang more blithely since she hearked to one 
Of optimistic mind. He, strong and glad, 
Knew not the smile upon his face brought smiles 
To other faces ; or, that his heart's joy 
Ofttimes awakened joy in other hearts. 
It is not here vouchsafed to men to know 
The good or evil they may do on earth 
By simply being what they are ; what they 
Dare sometimes to assert God made, though they 
Have let themselves be shaped anew by one 
Antagonistic to the true and good. 

Virginia wrote half smiling, oftentimes. 
As pleasant memories stirred within her breast. 
For much they two had talked of came to her. 
And through the current of her thoughts some 

thought 
That Leon had expressed ran crystal clear. 
To flow a separate stream till merged in hers. 
'Twas inspiration to the poet, who 
Had worked so much alone through former years, 
To know one 'waited, with true interest, 
The things she wrote. And she- — so well herself 
Had come, in so short while, to know the man. 
Could well divine what sentiments of hers 
Would harmonize with his ideas, and which 
He sea reel v^would accept as true of life 
As life had been revealed to him. For life 
Had been revealed to them in different lights. 
From different points of view : to him in hues 
Oft roseate ; to her in sombre shades : 



LOVE 45 

To him from heights where Gladness dwells; to 
her 

From lowly vales where Sorrow darkly broods. 

Yet she had never sung in hopeless strain ; 

Her most pathetic verse, penned during days 

More dark than death, had breathed not of de- 
spair. 

'Twas autumn-tide: three months had come and 

gone 
Since Leon bade goodbye to Laureldale; 
Months that had seen the roses of glad June 
Die on their stems; the fields of cotton change 
From green to fleecy white ; the orchard yield 
Its ripened fruit; and now the scuppemong, 
Of which one daintily might weave a crown 
Full worthy of October's queenly brow, 
Hung richly from the vines of field and wood. 

Though these had changed, the heart of Leon Grey 

No variation knew. He had enjoyed 

A correspondence with the poet since 

They parted; had despatched her flowers and 

books, 
Such as he felt she would appreciate. 
And now he wrote: "Methinks I am homesick 
For Laureldale ; I fain would watch again 
The sunset from that dear old western porch. 
Those distant trees, that daily the last rays 
So lovingly seemed ling'ring to caress. 
Are, peradventure, turned to scarlet now; 
They would have blushed long, long ago, had they 
Becoming shame, so boldly the sunbeams 
Made love to them. But if becoming shame 
They lacked, their blushes, I dare say, become 



46 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Them none the less. I would behold them, 

bathed 
In golden afterglow of some near day, 
And side by side with you. Then — may I come ? " 

"Yes, come," Virginia wrote him in reply. 
And thus continued : "If your brush could paint 
A scene like that we looked on yesterday, 
Your fame would be assured. The western sky. 
All rose and purple, formed a background such 
As Turner would have liked to look upon. 
Perhaps to paint, so radiant it was. 
It has been claimed this gifted one heheld 
More color in a landscape than most do. 
For God reveals his world to different men 
In different hues. A man stood by one day 
The while the painter painted rapidly, 
And asked of him : 'But why such brilliancy 
Of colors, Sir? I see in nature, 'sooth, 
None bright as these. ' The artist did not pause 
In his great task, but, moving still his brush 
With swift and certain strokes, as though he knew 
No thought or fear of failure in the end, 
Inquired: 'But don't you wish you could, my 
friend?' 

' ' Like him who looked on Turner's canvas then, 
It is not always given me to view 
Sweet nature in a dress of radiance, 
Nor do I wish she would reveal herself 
Too brightly clothed to me. More quiet tones 
Are restfuller: one thinks not of a scene 
By Turner when he hears the Psalmist sing : 
'He maketh me lie down in pastures green; 
He leadeth me beside the waters still. ' 



LOVE 47 

"Aunt Jane begs me to say a welcome waits 
You here, and that the doors of Laureldale 
Stand open wide. We shall be truly glad 
To give you greeting, and we trust the sun 
Will rise and set not often ere it dawns 
Upon the day of your arrival. " 

So 
Again the artist and the poet met. 
'Twas in the gloaming of a glorious day 
In late October, he arrived. To him, 
In the dim light of waning afternoon, 
So pleasantly familiar seemed the place, 
It had been easy to persuade himself 
He had departed hence but yesterday. 
Upon the broad piazza, 'waiting him, 
Virginia and Miss Jane stood side by side. 
As with glad steps he hurried through the gate 
And down the violet-bordered walk, to speak 
With them. A lamp suspended in the hall 
Seemed far from disobedient to the voice 
That one time gave command: "Hide not thy 

light. " 
Its rays streamed through the open door, and 

bathed 
The floor with gold, then ran adown the steps 
As if to meet and greet the coming guest. 
Whose upturned, smiling face they soft caressed. 

Virginia, in the shadow, could but see 
How eager his expression was that night. 
Like one who long had been away from home, 
And was rejoiced to finally return. 
Then she advanced, and gave her hand to him, 
Such words of welcome speaking as her heart 
Sincerely felt. He answered graciously, 
With that true courtesy that seemed innate, 



48 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

A part of self, nor manner but assumed 
To suit the season or the circumstance. 

Not always are they most polite, I note, 
Who study books of etiquette that teach 
Just how and when and where 'tis best to sit; 
And how and when and wherefore we should rise ; 
And when shake hands, and when bend low and 

bow. 
True courtesy is not mechanical, 
A something moved by hidden springs and wheels : 
Its source is in the heart, and only he, 
Whatever books to the contrary say, 
Is truly courteous whose manners are 
The outcome and expression of a wish 
To do to men, the lofty and the low, 
As he would have mankind do unto him. 

On what swift-flying wings glad days are borne ! 

We scarcely realize the joys they bring 

Ere they, like our most fleeting dreams, are gone. 

While yet we plead in whispers, brokenly: 

"Abide! Abide!" on noiseless pinions they 

Are soaring toward the Past that once was Now, 

Forever farther from our yearning sight. 

Thus swiftly they were soaring toward the Past 

For Leon and Virginia. He would bid 

Farewell upon the morrow to his friends 

At Laureldale, and homeward turn his face. 

Without it rained, a heavy mist of gray 

Enfolding earth, as far as eye could see; 

Within, the trio sat in that blue room 

Where Leon first beheld Virginia Vaughn. 

A blazing fire upon the hearth, the first 

There had been need of yet, burned merrily, 

And o'er the party cast a rosy light. 



LOVE 49 

The poetess reclined in her wheel-chair, 

Almost enveloped in the glorious hair 

That seemed at once, her mantle, and her crown. 

It lay about her slender, fragile form 

In shining waves, save where, sometimes, a curl 

O'erran the edge of her wheel-chair, and reached 

Down toward the floor. She was more silent than 

Her custom was, so thought the friend who sat 

Beside her, and who talked of many things 

To he]r and to Miss Jane. The latter's hands 

Were busy with the task of knitting socks, 

To which she held herself as faithfully 

As though on her devolved the mighty care 

Of clothing the cold feet of a cold world. 

A silence fell upon the three at length. 

And then was heard alone the silver click 

Of knitting needles flashing in the light. 

And the soft raindrops on the shingled roof. 

Miss Jane, half sighing, presently arose. 
And left the two together. Leon turned. 
Then, to the girl, and smilingly remarked: 
"A penny. Miss Virginia, for your thoughts. " 

"We may not always tell our thoughts, " she said. 
More gravely than she knew, "e'en when we would. 
We sometimes think so vaguely that our thoughts 
Have changeful, shadowy forms, and scarce reveal 
Themselves with clearness to ourselves. As well 
Aspire to robe pale spirits, such as haunt 
Our dreams sometimes, as seek, in fitting words. 
To clothe some fair, elusive thought that fails 
To perfectly reveal itself to us." 

The artist drew his chair more near to her, 
And earnestly replied : "I too, have found 



50 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

It sometimes difficult to speak the word 
I fain would speak. For long I've wished to tell 
You certain truths concerning my past life ; 
Of things that touched me in my early youth, 
But now are quite as if they had not been. 
Save that I think it best to keep some things 
Forever buried in forgetfulness, 
I would have spoken long ago." 

"Speak not," 
She said, and laid a hand upon his sleeve, 
As if to stay his voice, ' ' of anything 
It pains you to remember. " 

"But," he smiled. 
And she was reassured, "I only wish 
To introduce to you the foolish lad 
I one time was. " 

' ' More foolish then than now ? ' ' 
She asked, with that gay lightness she assumed 
Sometimes, and which he felt was but a froth 
That bubbled to the surface, hiding thus 
The color in the cup. 

' ' More foolish — yes, " 
He answered her, ' ' because more young, and so 
To influences of the foolish more 
Susceptible ; and things occasioned then 
Or pain or pleasure that now move me not 
To either joy or sorrow. We outgrow 
Our very selves, it seems, and sometimes look 
Into the past at that we were, with eyes 
Oped wide with wonder : so we view the clothes 
Our mothers tell us we were wont to wear 
In days long dead, and question wonderingly : 
'And was I ever just this very size?' " 

"Yet things that we outgrow, " Virginia mused, 
' ' Have their respective uses in our lives. 



LOVE 51 

'Tis only through experience we learn, 

And upward climb through tribulations sore 

To true success. The failure once bemoaned 

May make today's achievement worthier; 

The sorrows over which our hearts have bled 

Teach us at last how patiently to bear 

Our present ills ; and songs we long have tried 

To teach our lips to sing, may finally 

Soar upward to the skies, spontaneous 

As we, in roseate day-dreams, have dreamed." 

"I grieve not," Leon made response, "for things 

Outgrown and laid aside. It makes, perhaps, 

A pretty rhyme to sing the day is sad 

On which a girl must lay aside her doll. 

Or when a boy sails last his cherished kite. 

But 'tis not true ; each period in life 

Holds compensation for such joys as we 

Must leave behind us, and we onward glide 

With steps so gradual, we scarcely know 

When we let fall the things we have held dear. 

And reach out for those newer ones that shall 

Become as dear. As well grieve that we once 

Shook baby rattles in our rosy hands, 

And shake them now no more, as mourn that we 

Have laid aside the toys we once so loved. " 

Virginia acquiesced: "When I was yet 
A little child, and other children planned 
What they would have and do when they were 

grown 
To womanhood, I held my dear-loved doll 
Against my breast, with jealous heart none guess- 
ed, 
And whispered : 'Ladies no not play with dolls ; 
I'm sorry I have got to grow and grow 



52 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Till I'm a lady. ' But it was no grief, 
I found, to put them down when I had grown 
Beyond such childishness, and was prepared 
To pass to other things, and loftier. " 

"When I," said Leon, "had outgrown my kites 
And marbles, and my school-books, and the games 
Of early youth, I turned me to my art. 
To poetry, and then — to dreams of love. 
We scarcely leave the ways of childhood ere 
We lose ourselves — is it not so ? — in strange 
Sweet labyrinthine paths of youthful love. " 

He paused, and she replied thus softly : ' ' Since 
Such love, with all the pleasure and sweet pain 
'Tis said to bear with it, has ever been 
Withheld from me, as one might well surmise, 
I may not with authority discourse 
Upon the tender passion." 

Her dark eyes, 
However, sparkled brightly while she spoke, 
And her cheeks, usually so pale, were flushed 
As rosily as womens' are who love, 
And know themselves beloved. 

"In my first youth," 
Continued Leon, "I met one so fair 
Of face and form, it seemed in all the world 
None could be fairer. Outward beauty, then 
I thought, expressed a true soul-loveliness, 
And all my being bowed before the queen 
My love crowned her. She scorned not lowly me, 
But with a thousand gracious ways and wiles 
She led me on to love her more and more, 
Till she became my dream, my hope, my star. 
My all in all. She was my promised bride. 
And we had planned to wed when my poor brush 



LOVE 53 

Should earn sufficient income for our needs. 

Another came who needed not to win 

His way in life ; a man one scarce would name 

Unworthy, yet inferior to her 

In birth and intellect. He loved the girl, 

And they were married, she first writing me 

She loved me still, but feared my art a staff 

Too fragile for the two of us to lean 

Dependently upon. She knew, she said. 

She never could be quite content to wear 

The common clothes that wives of poor men must, 

Or to economize in every way. 

Contriving meanly, so it seemed to her, 

To merely live. Their marriage brought to them 

Less happiness than sorrow, and he died 

Some several years ago, bequeathing her 

Such wealth she need not wear the 'common 

clothes' 
She so despised in those departed days. 
She is today more fair than she was then, 
A vision rosy as Aurora is, 
Whom, meeting, most men turn to look upon 
A second time. " 

' ' You see her sometimes, then ? ' ' 
Virginia faltered. 

* ' Often, " he replied. 
"We meet sometimes at social gatherings, 
And she seems not averse— as many are — 
To sitting for a portrait. She, perhaps, 
Sees plainly I have ever sadly failed 
To do her justice, as a painter must. 
And so would have me try and try again. 

"When first I knew her false, it seemed my faith 
In woman's love and truth could scarce survive, 
Although I knew the falsity of one 



54 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Proves not all false. Within me deep I felt 

Are some as beautiful of soul as she 

Of face and form ; and after all, I loved 

Not her, but that I only thought she was ; 

And so I did not sorrow overlong, 

Nor lose glad faith. Instead, I dreamed on still 

Of love that dies not ; love that bravely bears 

Much more than poverty. Somewhere, I felt, 

A heart responsive to mine own beat true, 

Which life would lead me to some day, and bid 

Me, therefore, evermore be glad. For her — 

This dear companion of my dreams — I worked 

As truly as if she already were 

Beside me ; she, unlike that other one 

I had adored, or had believed I loved, 

Would care less for the money I might earn 

Than for my art itself; and yet her soul 

Would be awake to best things wealth can buy, 

And so I sought it for her sake. As large 

And calm as was the faith of him who sang : 

'Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high, can keep 

My own away from me, '* was my heart's faith. 

I did not doubt that I, come weal or woe. 

Would some day find my soul's affinity ; 

And calmly, gladly, I awaited her, 

As we await the coming of the mom. 

And know we look not for the light in vain. 

I knew her soul, and loved her, though her face 

Was not revealed to me. Virginia, dear ! — 

Do you not know 'tis you I long have loved? 

'Tis you I've waited for through the best years 

Of my manhood?" 

She only bowed her head. 
But he read that upon her face that said 
She more than knew : she loved, e'en as he loved, 
*John Burroughs. 



LOVE 55 

With love that would live on, unwearying 

Of its long task, through gladness or through grief, 

Through life or death, eternally. 

"You know?" 
He whispered, as if he would have her lips 
Afhrm what her expressive face had told. 
"I know," and her sweet eyes met his, then 

drooped 
Beneath the wondrous radiance they saw there, 
As droop the timid petals of fair flowers. 
Accustomed to deep shadows, when the sun 
Too brightly shines upon them. 

"Ah, I knew 
You could but know I love you, knowing you ! 
But it is scarce believable, dear one. 
That you love me. Then look into my eyes, 
My own, and say: T love you.' " 

She obeyed 
Him but in part ; for, though her eyes were drawn 
By some sweet, subtle power that she had 
Nor strength nor inclination to resist 
To look into his own, her lips spoke not 
The words that trembled on them, and which he 
Bent low to hear. For but a little space. 
That seemed a long, long while, the two looked 

thus 
Into each other's eyes, as though each sought 
To read the depths within the other's soul. 
And then, with perfect trust, Virginia put 
Her arms about his neck, and drew him down 
Until his lips pressed hers in their first kiss. 

In softened tones, while still the autumn rain 
Fell gently down, and while upon the world 
Grave Twilight dropped her mantle silently, 
The two talked on of things that should be brought 



56 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

To pass — God willing — through their lives made 

one. 
And then, with faltering voice sometimes, and tears 
Upon her cheeks ofttimes, Virginia told 
To Leon all the story of her past. 

"I was more sad than most of children are," 
She said, "and I had reason so to be. 
Indeed, my childhood had been wholly sad 
Had not my father been the man he was, — 
With heart that knew well both the father's part 
And mother's." 

"I have noticed," Leon said, 
"You speak more often of your father than 
Your mother." 

"Mother loved me not," she sighed, 
"To half the depth my tender father did. 
She was a great admirer of true grace 
Of form and movement, and forgave me not 
For being thus deformed. She would have liked 
To dress me in the pretty clothes she loved, 
Just such as she wore so becomingly ; 
But when she saw it made conspicuous 
The fault she fain would hide, she seemed to feel 
No other bond between herself and me. 
Perhaps she had learned bitterness of heart 
Before I came, for she and father were 
Not closely bound by ties congenial. 
And she had not a spark of sympathy 
For his high hopes and grand ideals of life. 
He was a thinker, loving quietness ; 
She loved the gayest of society : 
He had no time for vain frivolities; 
She counted time- as but of little worth — 
Scarce more than sands that through the old 
hour glass 



LOVE 57 

Slow trickle down, and never better spent 

Than in gay company of idle folk. 

And so it came to pass he had his friends, 

She, hers, and entertained them separately 

And differently : his few the student saw 

Upstairs in his small study; while the gay, 

Light butterfly received and entertained 

Her many in the larger rooms below ; 

And each bemoaned the other's want of taste, 

Though silently. If mother deigned to read 

A new book father wrote, she was more apt 

To hope 'twould yield a noble royalty. 

Than to remark on beauties it disclosed 

Of thought and theme. And her indifference 

To all that was as dear as life to him. 

He could but see, and in his heart desired, 

I do not doubt, companionship more close 

Than could exist between himself and her. 

While matters stood this wise between the two, 

I came into their little world, to loose 

Still more the cord that bound them each to each, 

Or else to draw them closer, as wee babes 

Are wont to do. Had I been beautiful 

As mother wished, and light and gay of heart, 

I might have satisfied her soul's desire. 

And so have won that love my childhood craved. 

"But I, alas! displeased her not alone 
By my deformity : while still I slept, 
AUiny embryo that might, or might 
Not, waken to glad life, she chose for me 
My father ; yet when I awoke, and took 
Unto myself his likeness more than hers. 
She loved me less because I was his child. 
Resembling him in all save only form. 
And when I had grown older, and my ways 



58 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

And eyes were dreamful, she despised me that 
My father's dreams were dreamed again in me, 
As if I were to blame because he dreamed, 
Or that I, coming after (having naught 
More childlike to employ me) dreamed also. 

"The while she entertained her friends below, 

I sat in father's study, at his feet, 

Or curled up in a big arm-chair, from which 

I watched his pen glide swiftly o'er the page, 

A slender, sombre thread of blackest ink 

Behind it trailing: one as dark, I thought. 

As any strand I might pluck playfully 

From my own raven locks, and place by it. 

And I remembered spiders, too, drop threads 

As long as those my father's pen let fall. 

But not so dark, and always spangled o'er 

With silver on a sunny, dewy mom. 

When he turned one time from his work, and took 

Me on his knee, I freely told to him 

This childish fancy. Catching me up close 

Against his breast, he kissed me, saying: 'Sweet, 

You are a poet!' 

" 'What's a poet, please?" 
I made inquiry. Whereupon he laughed. 
And kissed me once again ere he replied : 
'A poet, child? A poet — let me see — 
Is the interpreter — the teacher, too — 
Of all that is most true and beautiful. ' 

' ' If poets can be made (there' re those who say 
They cannot be) then father's kiss made one — 
Though but a rather lowly one — of me. 
From that glad day when first I heard the word 
From his dear lips, I wished to be the thing 
He proudly christened me, in glad surprise, 



LOVE 59 

And with that kind, aflfectionate caress. 

So young I was, I could not understand 

The definition he recited thus 

In answer to my query ; and he took 

A vohime from the shelf, and read aloud 

Some childish verses I could comprehend. 

Though very simple, they were not devoid 

Of beauty, and the rhyming was so true, 

The rhythm so smooth, involuntarily 

I caught and held my breath while listening, 

As lovers of good music do who hear 

Some lovely strain played by a master hand. 

My father could have made a homely verse 

vSeem beauliful, so rarely well he read, 

vSo full of melody was his deep voice. 

Just as a skilled musician may evoke 

Sweet chords from keys, grown old with use and 

time, 
Another touches but to make discord. 
But he preferred to have me even then 
Hear poems which within themselves were good. 
Before he put the book of verses down. 
He told me what a rhyme was, bidding me 
To search all up and down the page for rhymes 
To such and such a word. And he a game 
Invented that we afterward oft played — 
The game of rhymes,'he called it. He would name 
Within himself a certain word, that I 
Must guess by words he would speak out aloud 
That rhymed with it. And when I guessed aright, 
He would reward me by reciting some 
Gay couplet he spontaneously composed. 
Such as would please a simple little child. 
And thus I learned to build up rhyme on rhyme. 
As other children build up block on block; 
And as their houses widely differ, though 



60 VIRGINIA VAUGHN • , 

Constructed of the same material, 1 

So I used variously the various rhymes ] 

That were my toys. 

"The earliest verse I wrote 
That seemed to father good, he proudly showed 
To mother, in my presence, saying: 'Wife, 
We have a little poet. ' 

She but read 
Indifferently the childish lines, then laid 
The paper on the table, answering: 
T thought that she would be unusual; 
She always was so strange a child — quite strange 
Enough, me thinks, to poetize.' 

"When she 
Had left the room, I went, with burning cheeks, 
To father's side, and, leaning on his breast, 
Sobbed out: T'mnot her poet; I'll not be!' 
He caught me up in his strong, tender arms, 
And whispered huskily (a tear dropped down, 
The while he spoke, to mingle with the tears 
Upon my cheek) : 'You're father's poet, Sweet; 
But God's still more than father's.' 

Thus he strove 
To comfort me, as he was wont to do 
When I was troubled. And he shared no less 
My pleasures than my sorrows ; naught he deemed 
Too childish or too trivial to receive 
His loving, prompt attention. If my doll 
Were ill, he felt her pulse, and gave advice 
As to the treatment that would make her well ; 
When she was dressed in something newly made, 
He complimented what she wore, but said 
The seamstress was to be more praised than she, 
For 'tis much easier to wear dresses well 
Th^n make them so. 



LOVE 61 

"And when I questioned him 
Concerning Hves of little things we see 
About us daily, he took time to tell 
Such strange, attractive truths regarding them, 
I came to look on nothing God had made 
As common or unclean, and early learned 
That smallest things are large with interest. 
The brown earth-worm, that burrows in the soil, 
Has use, he told me, and fulfills the end 
For which 'twas made, although unconsciously. 
And he, in illustration of this fact, 
Related a true story of a man — 
A gardener — who ploughed and planted once 
A plot of ground that had lain fallow long. 
But when the embryo within the seed 
Had waked from sleep, it scarce had time to start 
Its rootlets downward toward the damp of earth; 
Its cotyledons upward toward the light, 
Before the fragile plantlet was cut down, 
To wither in the sun that called it forth. 
The man, upon investigation, found 
The soil inhabited by multitudes 
Of tiny worms, by which the dainty shoots, 
Just come to life, were greedily devoured. 
Their numbers, he perceived, must be reduced, 
Or hardest labor yield small recompense ; 
And he, to bring about the end desired. 
Scorned not to use as lowly, homely things 
As those he meant to make grim war upon. 
From near and from afar he had toads brought 
And loosened in his garden, till, I ween. 
So many ne'er were seen before, or since. 
Within four walls. As greedily as worms 
Had fed upon the tender, pale green plants. 
The hungry toads now fed upon the worms, 
Which thus were so perceptibly reduced, 



62 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

That when again the gardener ploughed his 

ground, 
Few of the squirming creatures were upturned 
From dark to hght. And yet his garden was 
Once more a failure : he had gone too much 
To the extreme, and where before his plants 
Had perished upon starting forth in life, 
Because so many mouths would fain be fed, 
The struggling roots now rotted in the ground, 
Through lack of aeration of the soil. 
And so those slender, ugly worms men tread. 
Sometimes with careless scorn, beneath their feet, 
Are proved most useful engineers that build 
Wee tunnels underground ; such as, in fact, 
Are necessary to the life of plants. 

"One truth suggests another, usually. 

As thought leads on to thought : my father told 

How, oftentimes, one of these burrows makes 

An unimpeded pathway for a root. 

In search of nourishment, to wander down. 

It seems roots are endowed with some instinct, 

Some unnamed quality or faculty 

That is akin to man's intelligence ; 

For, pushing through the soil persistently, 

One turns aside from pebbles in the way, 

And goes around them without touching them ; 

Again, if there be opening in the earth 

Not far from one, through which it will not need 

To force a path, 'twill change its course, and go 

Directly toward the little crevice, whose 

Vicinity it learns of by a sense 

We yet know not. But I — ", Virginia paused, 

Her cheeks flushed rosily, "forget myself; 

I did not mean to talk on ceaselessly. " 



LOVE 63 

But Leon fain would hear all she could tell, 
And begged she would continue ; he would know, 
He said, those who had made her what she was 
Because of being part of her past life — 
That past so dear to him because 'twas hers, 
Yet closed to him unless she should unlock, 
With golden keys she held, its doors to him. 

Virginia pressed a hand upon her eyes, 

Or if to shut the present from her mind. 

Or hide a rising tear, the man knew not. 

Then she took up the thread where it was dropped 

A moment previous, continuing 

The story of her life. Her voice was low. 

Vibrating sweetly to the thought expressed 

In glowing words, and to the sad or glad 

Emotion of her heart. 

" 'Twas in the Spring 
When father told that story true to me, 
And when soon afterward my eyes beheld 
The first toad seen that year, I greeted it 
With all that joy we feel when we behold 
The first sweet summer rose. 

'Oh, come! Oh, come!' 
I called, and clapped my hands, dehghtedly. 
My mother, in surprise, looked out on me. 
For seldom had she seen her sad, still child 
Enthusiastic. 

'What is it?' she asked. 

'A toad !' I cried. 

'You fooliish child,' she said; 
'Who wants to see an ugly, dirty toad !' 

But father, seeming glad as I, came down 
To greet the little creature, which he named 



64 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

'The gardener's brownie.' 

• 'Tis not ugly, child— 
Not altogether,' he averred. 'For see! — ' 
He caught and held it in his naked hand, 
As if in his great, noble nature was 
No loathing for that wierdly cold, rough skin 
With which his soft hands came in closest touch, 
'Search long, search far, and in wide nature's 

realm 
You will not find a thing more beautiful 
Than these two golden eyes we look into.' 

He put the reptile down as tenderly 
As only they would who have tender hearts. 
And said, still kneeling: 'Look for loveliness 
In lowliest things and places ; you'll not fail 
To find it, precious child.' " 

Virginia paused, 
And then again she pressed her eye-lids down, 
To shut from view the things surrounding her, 
And to be lost once more in paths she trod 
In far-off, childhood days. 

"I was home-taught, " 
She went on presently. ' ' When I was still 
A little child, they placed me in a school. 
But I was ill so often, and so oft 
The children made remarks which wounded me. 
That father had a dear old gentleman 
To give instruction to me in the house. 
He once was a professor, long before. 
In the old college that my father loved 
As his dear Alma Mater; and the two 
Had memories that bound them close in ties 
Of warm accord. My teacher might have been — 
So many frosts had fallen upon him — 
My father's father, and when he had won 



tOVE 65 

My chilhish love, he asked that I would be 

His dear grand-daughter, naming him, with both 

My heart and lips, 'Grandfather.' This I found 

Not difficult to do, for truly he 

Seemed of most near relationship to us, 

So like a father to my father dear. 

And like a dear grand-sire to me, to whom. 

Through my timidity, most persons seemed 

As strangers. Thus, " Virginia turned and smiled 

On Leon, "when hereafter you may hear 

Me speak of him I call Grandfather, do 

Not think of him as an ancestor whose 

Blood flows in me. Yet had he been, in truth. 

My father's father, worthy of the son 

Who honored his proud name, I think I had 

Not loved him more. Thus loving him, I made. 

Perhaps, more progress with my studies than 

I otherwise had done ; his praise was sweet, 

Almost, as father's, and ofttimes I pored 

Long o'er my books, not but that they were loved. 

But that so truly I rejoiced to hear 

His proud 'well done.' 

'In teaching this dear child,' 
My father said, and on my shoulder laid 
A hand, as lightly as a snow-flake falls 
Upon the world, 'put stress upon such things 
As will make life seem beautiful to her, 
Though it be sometimes shadowed; teach that 

good 
Is in all things, to finally prevail, 
Though sadly mixed with evil ; teach her, too, 
Love lives where often 'tis not manifest, 
And underlies much we misunderstand 
In those we meet, or pass, or walk beside, 
On life's highway.' 



66 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

"When he entreated thus: 
'Make life seem beautiful to her, though it 
Be sometimes shadowed,' father thought, me- 

thinks, 
The burden upon which his hand then lay 
Would cast a shadow deep enough, ofttimes. 
To dim life's path for me. And when he said : 
'Love underlies much we misunderstand 
In those we walk beside,' perhaps he hoped 
I might believe my mother loved me, though 
She was unkind. But I could not believe, 
Or then or afterward, so strange a thing ; 
She never gave me reason to believe 
She cared for me. Though I was twenty when 
She passed away, I cannot now recall 
One kiss or kind caress vouchsafed to me, 
Though I have seen her catch up in her arms 
Some pretty, rosy child, on whose glad face 
She rained down kisses generously. Had she 
Been chary of caresses, as some are. 
Who yet would die for those to whom they owe 
Allegiance of love, it had not been 
So hard to bear ; and I might now believe 
That 'neath her calm and cold exterior 
An undercurrent of affection may 
Have run. Some few are crowned with mother- 
hood, 
Who have within their hearts no strings that 

move 
Responsive to the touch of baby-hands; 
No chords that vibrate to the needs and joys 
Of babyhood. 'Twere full as well, I hold. 
To be named motherless, as be compelled 
To call one like this, 'mother.' " 

Leon bent. 
And touched his lips with reverence to her brow, 



LOVE 67 

And whispered: "Sweet, when you come home 

to me, 
You need no longer lack for mother-love 
Or mother care. My mother will be yours, 
Not for the sake alone of her one son, 
But for your own sweet sake as well ; none could 
Know you, and not love you, save one whose heart 
Was dead to love and loving. Tell me more, 
Mine own — nay, tell me all — of your past life. " 

"Yet more?" she asked, and smiled. "So long 

these things 
I now rake o'er, have lain in ashes, I 
Knew not that with so light a breath I might 
Stir sparks to life. But memories die not, 
Though we may call them dead, and bury them 
Beneath the ashes of the silent past. 
It seems they only sleep, and, ere we know. 
At but a word, a breath, the softest sigh, 
They wake once more, and move us as we thought 
They would not evermore. As I have talked 
Of days departed, things forgotten long 
Have come to mind, each one preceding one, 
And following another: memories. 
Like troubles, come not singly, but in files, 
And are, alas ! sometimes as pitiless 
As living sorrow. 

' ' I remember that 
A lovely little girl, with golden hair 
And bright blue eyes, was once, for many weeks, 
A visitor to us. Her cheeks were tinged 
With softest pink, as though they had been 

touched 
With that rose-tint the fairies use who paint 
The rosy lined sea-shells, and her fair brow 
Was lily in its whiteness. I who yearned 



68 VIRGINIA VAUGHN' 

Toward beauty, as our souls yearn toward ideals 

Too high to be attained on earth, bowed low 

In spirit to this one, to whom the gods 

Had been so kind. Not only was she fair 

To look upon — a flower in beauty far 

Surpassing fellow-flowers growing near — 

But all her ways were ways of pleasantness, 

And she was one who was beloved of all. 

Her bell-like laughter was so silvery sweet, 

One scarcely felt the need, when she was near, 

Of other music in the house ; so light 

Of heart she was, she seemed a sunray sent 

To make more glad the world wherein she dwelt. 

I loved her, and it seemed she loved me well. 

Though we were so dissimilar in all. 

"We sat together at our play one eve. 
When mother came upon us suddenly. 
Her fair cheeks flushed, her brown eyes sparkling 

bright 
As in excitement. I had never seen 
Her look so angry, and I could but fear 
That she would over-roughly speak to me 
In presence of my little visitor. 

'Virginia !' she exclaimed, 'why did you touch 
The jewels in my box? Have I not said 
You never must ?' 

'I did not, mother — ' 

'Hush!' 
She cried. 'Someone, with not enough to do. 
Has dared to meddle with my pearl sunburst. 
And now the largest, fairest pearl of all 
Is nowhere to be found. So many times 
I've told you not to touch my jewel box, 
And now — ' 



LOVE $6 

'I did not, mother,' I declared, 
'I did not!' 

Julia stood, with whitened lips, 
Shocked at my mother's accusation, so 
I thought, too much amazed to speak a word. 
Would she, too, think me guilty? Ah, I hoped 
She had all faith in me ! I spoke again, 
More softly, as I took a step toward her, 
And held my two hands out imploringly : 
"I did not touch my mother's horrid pearls — 
I did not, Julia !' 

She, with backward step, 
Withdrew as I impulsively advanced. 
As though she feared contamination did 
I come more near. Then, with her lovely eyes 
Forth flashing scorn, and her forefinger stretched 
Accusingly toward me, she almost shrieked: 
'You did ! I saw you !' 

" If a bomb had burst 
Beneath my feet, the shock could not have been 
More great. I knew that I was innocent, 
And yet a something deep within me feared 
I might be guilty. I felt dazed, and looked 
On Julia as though I but dreamed a dream 
Most strange: could such lips lie? — Did she to 

whom 
My heart had gone out in affection true 
Thus hate me utterly, — and spitefully? 
I could not speak nor cry ; but with a moan, 
A stifled, inarticulate appeal, 
I turned to mother. 

'See!' she said. 'Your guilt 
Is proven. Julia saw you do the thing 
I knew in reason you had done, and you — 
No wonder ! — stand in silence. Yet I'm glad 
You have the grace, at least, to be ashamed.' 



70 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 



Alas for me! In but a moment all 
The evil that lay dormant in my soul, 
Sprang into life, and triumphed o'er the good. 
I would have called down anguish on those two, 
While still the furies lashed me on to hate, 
If so I could ; perhaps the pallid hand 
Of some grandsire, for generations dead. 
Stained with the life-blood it had caused to flow, 
Reached then from out the shadows of the past, 
Arousing in my heart that which none knew 
Deep slumbered there : the possibility 
Of hatred and of merciless revenge. 
We know not whence these influences rise 
That change our very natures in a flash. 
And make us strangers even to ourselves. 
With fist out- thrust,— a fist that hardly could 
Have hurt a fly, it was so small and weak, — 
I stood in angry, threatening attitude. 
And dared them say that I would speak untruth. 
My manner and the words I said were wild, 
So wild I think I must have been insane 
To speak so to my mother, for of her 
I hitherto had stood in trembling awe. 

' ' Ere spirits of the evil one had loosed 

Their hold of me, and while I still talked on 

Excitedly, the door was oped and closed, 

And father sadly in our presence stood ; 

Dear father, with those grave, sweet eyes!l thought 

Could read one's very soul. He turned them first 

Inquiringly on mother, then on me. 

And as, half sorrowful, they met mine own, 

The demon in me slumbered quietly. 

And I felt deep contrition for the words 

That I had said. 



LOVE 71 

'Now tell me all,' he urged. 
And there was no more passion in his voice 
Than had he said to one, to whom he gave 
Exchange of greeting on the street, 'The day 
Is very warm.' 

And mother told hira how, 
Through willful disobedience of mine, 
The pearl most valued in her ornament 
Had been unset and lost ; and how I still 
Most stubbornly denied I touched the gem,. 
Though Julia saw me with it in my hand. 
One, judging from the wording and the tone 
Of her recital, could but only feel 
She grieved more for a little jewel lost 
Than that her child, as truly she believed, 
Was proved untruthful. 

Father turned to me : 
'You touched it not, Virginia?' 

'I did not.' 

'And yet,' he looked on Julia, 'you declared 
You saw her do it?' 

' I— I— thought— I— did, ' 
She faltered. 

'You but thought?' 

Had she loved him 
But half as well as I, that look and tone 
Had pierced her to the heart ! 

'Come, Julia, dear; 
Let's understand each other.' 

He outstretched 
A hand to her, and she approached with feet 
Reluctant, eyes downcast. 

'Now when did you,' 
He questioned, 'see Virginia near the stand 
Her mother's box of jewels rests upon?' 



7Z VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

She raised a pair of frightened eyes to his, 
Then let them fall beneath his searching gaze 
As she half- gasped, half - whispered : 'I — I — think 
It was this morning, — after breakfast, — when — 
When — I — was coming — from — the dining — 

room, — 
I saw her there.' 

'Nay, nay! Remember, child. 
My little girl has not strong feet like yours. 
And every mom I carry her upstairs. 
And to my study, which she calls her school, 
For there she meets her teacher, there recites, 
And there prepares her lessons for the day 
To follow. I myself thus bore her past 
Her mother's door this morning, and we two 
Remained together in my study till 
The bell for dinner sounded. How, then, child. 
Could you have seen Virginia, as you claim?' 

"She broke down, sobbing, then, confessing how 
She pinned the sunburst on her dress, and when 
She heard someone approaching, quickly tried 
To loost it, but could not; afraid, she snatched 
It roughly from its place upon her breast. 
And tossed it in the box, nor knew a pearl 
Was lost until my mother questioned me. 

'To touch the jewel,' father said, 'was wrong; 
But 'twas not near so wrong as to deceive. 
And try to place the blame and punishment 
Upon another. We may find the pearl, 
As 'twas not carried from the room, and must 
Be near where it was dropped. And you, dear 

child,— 
Oh, may you find the precious pearl of truth. 
And yyegf it evermore within your heart !' 



LOVE 7^ 

"We found our pearl, but if fair Julia found, 
In days to be, the gem of greater worth, 
It is not mine to say ; our ways in life 
Lay quite apart, and we met not again. 

"Soon after this, my father's health, alas! 
Began to fail, and feebler grew each day. 
I now was twelve years old, and sometimes he, 
Too weak to use a pencil, would dictate 
To me, as I reclined upon the rug 
Beside his couch, and strained my ear to catch 
His softly spoken words. He was engaged 
Upon a book he hoped to finish, he 
Declared, ere passed the autumn-tide away. 
1 think sometimes, though never he said so, 
He meant the autumn-tide of life : for he — 
He lived not long enough to finish that 
Begun and carried on so hopefully. 

' 'When I wa& told, that night, that he was dead, 

I scarcely could believe that it was so ; 

It seemed my love had surely been enough 

To hold him to this world, to life and me. 

But truest love, when all for it is said, 

Avails so little ; it can never hold 

Our loved ones longer at our side when Death, 

Respecting not our love, to claim them comes; 

It cannot breathe, alas ! the breath of life 

Into the body now so stark and cold 

That knew the warmth and suppleness of life 

So recently; nor can it bear us far, 

However we may long to follow our 

Departed, to that other, fairer world 

That they have safely reached. For days my life 

Seemed but suspended by a fragile thread. 

I wished to die ; and prayed to pass away 



74 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

To the Beyond where now my father dwelt. 

But Death, alas ! comes not more readily 

For being wooed, and Death passed me to take, 

Perchance, some gladder one who cherished life. :^, 

I slowly struggled back, as time passed on, 

To health — or to my usual health, at least — 

And soon was at my books again, each day 

Reciting to my teacher, as of old. 

But, oh, the loneliness of all the place 

With my beloved, loving father gone ! 

To see him not wherever I might go ; 

To hear him not and touch him not, yet feel 

Him nearer me than those I saw and heard. 

And might reach out and touch, if so I would ; 

Ah, life and death were things mysterious — 

Beyond the comprehension of a child 

Who had no dear, wise father to explain ! 

' ' I did not try to write for several years ; 

I was not conscious, even, that I thought. 

But thoughts, that once find lodgment int he mind, 

Mature and mellow, as the fruit grows ripe 

Upon the tree; and as the ripened fruit 

No longer clings unto the parent stem. 

But leaves it, peradventure, to refresh 

A tongue that's thirsty, so should thoughts not be 

Withheld from who will hear, whose hearts or 

minds 
May need the nourishment God grants through us. 

' ' Each day, upon my knees, I thank that One 
Who taught my father what to say the time 
He named me, when I was a little child, 
'God's poet.' For, in after years, when he 
Lay sleeping silently within the tomb ; 
When I had bent me to my work in life. 



LOVE 75 

And mother's opposition seemed a weight 
To keep my soul from soaring, I recalled 
That I was dedicated to my God, 
And might not disobey when He said: 'Do!' 
Though all the world should shout aloud: 'Do 
not!' 

"We are as truly called of God who feel 
Within ourselves a yearning, never stilled, 
To do some certain worthy work in life, 
As Samuel was who, in the night, heard thrice 
Jehovah's voice, nor knew it for the Lord's, 
But thought 'twas Eli called. And when he went 
The third time to the priest, EH perceived 
The Lord had called the child, and bade him go 
Lie down once more, and answer should he hear 
The summons yet again. The lad obeyed, 
And when the fourth time had his quickened ear 
Heard his named called, he bravely made reply : 
'Speak, for thy servant heareth.' 

We mistake 
God's voice sometimes, or else are wholly deaf 
To His commands; we need to hark to Him 
When all is still, e'en in the dark of night, 
Perhaps, as the boy, Samuel, did, to learn 
His will concerning us. Our Father is 
All-patient, and He calls us twice or thrice, 
Or many times, unto the life that He 
Hath made us for. We dare not disobey 
Who hear : and who thus hear and who obey — 
What boots it how they give expression here 
To God in them (God speaks through men in work 
He has assigned to them) if they do so 
As nobly and sincerely as they can ? 

"God compensates, I think, in some sweet way, 



76 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

To some degree, at least, for all we miss 

That else had made us glad ; too glad, perhaps, 

For our soul's good and His high glory. I, 

Who never knew that gracious mother-love 

It is the right of children all to know 

Whose mothers live to teach them; who could 

taste 
Not pleasures common to young girls and youth, 
Or momentarily put down the pain 
'Tis mine to bear unto the end of life, 
Could yet quite frequently forget that hearts 
Know ever need, or grief, so truly did 
My work teach joy. To feel there is a place 
For us in life, however small; a work 
To do, however lowly ; some good end 
To be achieved, however dimly seen 
Through lowered mists, is to believe we are 
Here not by chance, but by the Hand and Heart 
Of Him who planned and made the universe ; 
Here not just to exist, but to fulfill 
Some purpose of that high and holy One 
Who condescends to use e'en such as we 
In His great plan. 

"Thus humbly did I work, 
Yet proudly, too, until my twentieth year. 
When mother suddenly was stricken down, 
And my place was beside her. She was ill 
A long, long time ; so long it seemed she might 
O'ercome at last the dread disease that thus 
Was threatening life. We had begun to hope. 
When suddenly, ere we could mark the change 
That presaged death, the spark of life went out, 
And I, already motherless in truth, 
Was motherless in name. 



LOVE 77 

"To grieve for one 
Who loved us not— whom we loved not — 
Is scarce as inconsistent as it seems. 
We feel that, after all, much may have been 
Misunderstood we thought was read aright ; 
And we remember things we did and said 
That had been better left undone, — unsaid. 
What though we had grave provocation so 
To do and speak ? 'Tis past, and but remorse 
Is left to us, a heavy weight to add 
Unto whatever burdens we in life 
Already bear. 

' ' Eight years ago that was : 
And grandfather, who knew I dearly loved 
The country, urged a change for me ; he said 
The fresh air and the quiet here, would be. 
Perhaps, to better health and better work 
Conducive. So he brought us here, and he 
With us abode at lyaureldale, till called 
Up to that 'larger room' soon after we 
Were here established. " 

Leon's eyes, when she 
Looked up, were wet with tears. 

"I did not mean 
To sadden you, " she said. "God gives to none 
More than He helps them bear; and He— so good, 
So kind and all compassionate He is — 
Makes life a boon most precious, aye, and sweet, 
To even those whose heritage is pain. " 



MARRIAGE 



" His house she enters, there to be a light 
Shifiifig withifi, when all without is night ; 
A guardian angel o''er his life presiding. 
Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing.'''' 

— Rosers. 



BOOK III 

The night was past, the rain had ceased to fall, 

And through a window of Virginia's room 

The morning sun stole softly in, as if 

To rouse her from her dreams, and bid her look 

Upon the world Love had made roseate 

The while she slept. The birds were all aglee, 

As if they knew the secret of two hearts. 

And laughed among themselves that lovers woo 

At other than the happy time of Spring, 

When trees are putting forth their leaves, and 

flow'rs 
Unfurling theif gay banners to the breeze. 

Virginia rose, and slipped on o'er her gown 

The light kimona every mom she wore 

While Leah gently brushed her long, dark hair. 

She touched a silver bell upon the stand 

Beside her bed, and soon the negress came 

In answer to her summons. Her black face 

Was swollen, as with weeping, and her eyes 

Were heavy, as though she had spent the night 

In sorest grieving, rather than in sleep ; 

And though she smiled, her soft "Good momin' " 

lacked 
Its usual cheery tone. Her mistress could 
But see that something sadly was amiss, 
And asked her kindly what the trouble was, 
And if bad news had come within the night. 
The servant threw herself upon the floor, 
And clasped her arms about Virginia's knees, 

81 



82 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Hysterically sobbing: "Oh, meh chile, 

I heerd dem talkin' las' night atter you 

Done gone ter bed ! I heerd him tell Miss Jane — 

Dat Maussa Leon — he gwine take you 'way 

'Bout Chris' mus time. Meh honey, doan you 

know 
Dat break meh heart"? 

Quick tears of sympathy 
Sprang to the girl's dark eyes, and she bent down, 
And laid a white hand on the woman's head 
So lowly bowed. 

"And do you mind so much. 
My dear old Leah?" 

' ' Oh, meh heart done break 
Kaze you gwine leab me hyar!" 

" Nay, nay, good one, 
I shall not leave you here ! Do you not know 
I need you more than ever you need me?" 

"En you gwine take me, den?" 

The tear- wet face. 
At once upturned, was beaming with a light 
Not borrowed from the sun, although there fell 
The morning rays upon it. 

"Ah, whom else 
Should I depend upon to carry me 
Upstairs and down, to brush and comb my hair, 
And do the many other things none does 
So well as Leah?" 

' ' Oh, meh heart ! Las' night 
I cry en cry, en tink I neber am 
Gwine laugh agin ; en now, when momin' come, 
I laugh en laugh, en doan know how ter stop. " 

And truly, she swayed back and forth, and held 
Her shaking sides the while she thus expressed, 



MARRIAGE 83 

In mirthful laughter, her heart's joy, until 
Virginia, too, began to feel she knew 
Not how to stop, and gently chided her. 

"Now hush, meh honey! Aint de Bible say 
Dat sorrow may be doin' in de night. 
But joy gwine sho be doin' in de momin' ? 
Aint I des actin' lak de Bible say?" 

And with the words she held her sides again, 
And bending almost double, laughed outright. 
While tears, but not of sorrow, overbrimmed 
Her sparkling eyes. And while she was engaged 
In her loved task of brushing out the long. 
Dark tresses of Virginia's hair, she paused 
Now and anon, and turned aside to laugh 
As softly as she could. She was ashamed, 
It seemed, to thus continue laughing, yet 
Was pow'rless to control her heart's o'erflow. 

When she had done her task, and left the room, 
Someone tapped lightly on Virginia's door, 
And to the poet's gentle call : "Come in, " 
Miss Jane responded. She seemed ill at ease, 
As though she were uncertain what to say, 
Or in what words to say the thing she knew 
'Twere well to say. She scarcely had seemed 

more 
Abashed had she been seventeen instead 
Of seventy ; a maiden come to make 
Confession : " I do love, and am beloved, " 
Instead of one who would but pray God bless 
A bride-to-be. For though these two had lived 
Together pleasantly, each ever cherishing 
A kindly feeling for the other, each 
Had failed to sound the other's depth of heart, 



84 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

And neither knew the self the other veiled 
Unconsciously. 

We may not realize 
How true it is, that we reveal ourselves 
In different lights to different men, and two, 
Perhaps, behold us never quite the same. 
To some we give: our strength, our hope, our 

grace. 
Go out to them, and bring us no return 
Save joy of having served. From some we take : 
We lean on these, and learn of them, and grow 
More glad, or good, or strong because they are. 
With others still we make exchange, while some 
Receive from us no virtue, and give none; 
Such we might walk beside a long life-time, 
No answering spark awakening in their souls. 
Though ours were all afire. Though souls like 

these 
Have power to bum, yet, like those matches which 
Light best when into closest contact brought 
With matter made for their ignition, they 
Start only into life at touch of souls 
Affinitive. 

Miss Jane, though kind of heart, 
Was oft devoid of tact, and though at times 
Her motive was most gracious, yet her words 
Were seldom so. 

"I had a talk," she said, 
' ' Last night with Mister Grey ; he tells me he 
Will marry you. " 

The pale Virginia flushed 
Up to the brow, and answered softly, "yes, " 
With drooping eyes. And yet the girl's heart 

winced 
At those three little words : "He'll marry you, " 
As though her aunt meant what they might imply : 



MARRIAGE 85 

' ' He, fair and full of strength, will deign to stoop 
From his superior height to marry you, 
Deformed and weak. ' ' 

Miss Jane did not suspect 
Such meaning to her simple words might be 
Attributed. Unmindful of the hurt 
Herself had caused, so easy 'tis to wound 
Another and not know, she went on thus, 
More happily, perhaps: "I hope you will 
Do well in your new life ; you have been good 
To me, in giving me a home with you, 
And being always kind to me. I pray 
You will be blessed." She paused a moment, 

then 
Continued in a voice that shook, despite 
Her firm resolve : "I feel a little sad 
At thought of leaving dear old Laureldale. " 

"I never meant you should, dear aunt, " her niece 
Made haste to say. 

"Oh, yes, you have been good — 
You have been good, indeed!" Miss Jane de- 
clared. 
Misunderstanding what the girl had said. 
But when at last she learned Virginia meant 
For her to live on still at the loved place, 
If so she would, with someone to keep house 
And bear her company, her heart was thrilled 
With deepest gratitude. 

A building has 
No individuality to those 
Who use it merely for a place in which 
To eat and sleep ; a shelter from the cold 
And heat, the rain and sun ; a storage place 
For needful furniture and bric-a-brac. 



86 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

'Tis only when our hearts have truly throbbed 

Within|the house beneath whose roof we dwell, 

That it becomes a place to hold apart 

From others, sacred to some glad or sad 

Association of the deathless past. 

Virginia's life had been intensely lived — 

Not less so that it seemed quite otherwise. 

She longed for free expression : she'd have done 

And said the things the soul within moved her 

To do and say, as gladly as the lark 

Upsoars and sings at dawn of day, had her 

Environment permitted. Those most near 

To her, as she walked onward o'er life's way. 

Were not, as chances oft, alas ! with us 

Who journey here, in harmony with her, 

And their souls stirred not with responsive thrill 

When hers was touched. But character is built 

As truly through repression as it is 

Through its expression ; and we are more strong 

Because 'tis ours to say to self, sometimes, 

"Thou must not," rather than always, "Thou 

may'st. " 
And when we've learned well to control ourselves, 
We are become such staffs as weaker ones 
May lean upon, and carry with more ease 
The burdens they are faltering beneath. 

Who live thus to themselves more than most do, 
Look more to nature than their fellowmen 
For consolation and companionship, 
And she rewards them by unfolding rare 
And lovely pages to their view, that none 
May read save those who dearly cherish her. 
Virginia loved the broad-leaved laurel trees 
About the place, whose sprays of glossy green 



MARRIAGE 87 

She plucked the whole year round, from May to 

May, 
Nor feared to ever find them failing her, 
As human friends fail sometimes when we crave 
Their sympathy. And she, in confidence. 
Had told them things they sorrowed or rejoiced 
To hear ; — sweet secrets they kept in their hearts, 
Nor told the winds to babble of abroad. 
She knew just where the first snowdrops — those 

flowers 
In purity and sweet simplicity 
So like herself — would peep above the earth 
In early Spring: 'twas in that sheltered spot 
Beside the hedge, whereon the warm sun shone 
From mom till eve. There, too, the violets 
First bloomed, and there the golden daffodils 
And fragrant jonquils in the breezes danced, 
As if beside themselves with happiness. 

To poets, as to children, naught is old; 
Each day dawn is a mystery unsolved. 
Forever new. None, then, need be surprised 
That both kneel down, in early spring, to search 
For green shoots upwardpushingthrough the earth, 
The while they question, with abated breath : 
' ' Now, will the wonder of the budding leaf 
Again come true?" 

Oh, Mystery most sweet ! 
Oh, Power that bids the embryo awake 
Down in the cold and dark of earth, ere we. 
Who stand within the warmth and light, quite 

know 
The winter time is past, teach us, we pray, 
To marvel at the wondrous miracles 
Thou workest for us daily ! We would be 
As little children, eager to learn more, 



88 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

And waiting for the revelation each 

New day will bring. Alas, 'tis that the gifts 

Attesting to thy pow'r, thy graciousness 

And glory, are so many and so free. 

We look upon them as but common things, 

Scarce worthy of men's gratitude and praise. 

As one, in other words than these, has sung: 

If but a single star should shine for but 

A single night, how many voices would 

vSing loud its praise ! If but one rose should bloom 

For but a day, how grateful would they be 

Who looked on it ! But when the night is gemmed 

With countless stars, 'tis scarcely worth one's 

while 
To step without his door and look on them ; 
And when a myriad lovely roses bloom 
Full in one's sight, why, who would make a stir 
About a thing so insignificant ! 

Virginia felt not thus: the flowers she 

Saw daily, and the trees and shrubs that grew 

Upon her place, she deemed a part of home, 

And loved the individualities 

Of each : for plants, as individuals. 

Have habits, likes and dislikes, as have men, 

To whom they seem akin, especially 

In their brave struggle for supremacy. 

They are not satisfied to merely be ; 

The least and lowliest weed will seek to climb 

More high than do its fellows. They want light, 

And upward strive toward it, as if they know 

To make no effort is to be o'ercome, 

And starved and stifled in the shadows thrown 

By taller plants. 



MARRIAGE 89 

Two seeds that were produced 
By the same tree, are started into Hfe, 
One in the shaded forest, thickly grown, 
And one upon the sunny, open plain. 
The first, surrounded by a multitude 
Of struggling plants, ambitious as itself, 
All striving toward the light they dimly see 
O'erhead, through leafy limbs of taller trees, 
Seems clearly, in some way, to understand 
It must not use material and time 
At first in building branches. Up and up 
It sends a slender stalk, producing limbs 
Far from the ground, so that its buds and leaves, 
Thus lifted high, are kissed by the glad sun, 
And bathed by its life-giving warmth and light. 
The tree upon the plain does otherwise: 
Its object, too, is to present as large 
A surface as it may to the sun's rays. 
No objects intervene to shade the plant 
When starting forth in life, and sunbeams play 
So freely round it, that it does not need 
To strive toward what its woodland sister must 
Attain, or surely perish. So the tree 
Upon the plain is quite unlike the tree 
Within the forest ; and its branches, low, 
And spreading out unhindered, better suit 
Its situation, and the service 'tis 
To render man and beast who seek its shade. 

Some men strive more, and truly grow more tall 
And more erect of soul, when they are drawn 
In worthy competition with their kind. 
And these, sometimes, are bom amid the dim, 
Dark shadows of this life, and reach the light 
But only by brave struggling toward some ray 
They vaguely see. While others, like the tree 



90 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Upon the plain, on which the warm sun pours, 
Have only to accept and use the beams 
That come to them, unbidden and unsought. 
And yet, when light means warmth, and even life, 
The thing to man most vital is, "get light, " 
Not, "get light thus, " or, "get it so and so. " 
And he who bravely strives and nobly wins, 
Becomes too much a man to whine that he 
Has had to labor painfully for that 
Which one, not worthier than he, but took 
From Fortune's hand. 

Such parallels as these 
Virginia saw in nature, to the lives 
Of humankind : the bud upon the bush. 
The full-blown, rich-hued flow'r amid the green, 
The stem left bare, with petals fallen low 
Upon the ground, — were all more than they 

seemed ; 
Each symbolized some several things if one 
But read aright, and they together told 
The story of all life : birth, growth and death. 
Thus speaking to her soul, her flow'rs were loved 
For more than beauty, so that when she thought 
Of leaving Laureldale, she knew full well 
She would depart from cherished flow'rs and plants 
As sorrowfully as from friends who spoke, 
With tongues like hers, the language that she did. 

When Leon begged they might be married ere 
Another year, she looked, with wistful eyes — 
Eyes yet alight with love and happiness — 
Upon the beckoning trees outside, and urged : 
"Ah, wait until the laurels bloom again!" 

"And then, " he laughed, "so fair the place would 
seem 



MARRIAGE 91 

To certain eyes, 'the dearest ever seen,' 
(Ah, turn them not away, my sweet, to leave 
Me in the dark !) I might not win my bride 
To go, though I were there, unto a place 
Less beautiful. " 

Virginia quickly turned, 
And softly said : ' ' No place is beautiful 
Bereft of love that once has hallowed it ; 
And Laureldale, though fair before you came. 
Would be unlovely now with you away. " 

"Brave little soul," he cried, "so unafraid 
To freely speak the love within your heart ! 
I fain would fill with joy your days-to-be, 
And make henceforth your life, which in the past 
So much of sorrow knew, a paean glad. " 

She softly laid a finger on her lips, 

And shook her head, the while she gravely smiled : 

' ' Speak not today of sorrow, lest our hearts 

Grow sad thereby; for, as another's grief 

Oft saddens us, so our dead sorrows wake 

When Memory calls, and give us pain. Then let 

The dead lie still : I told you of those days. 

Long past, that you might know me as I was 

Before the currents of our lives thus came 

Together to flow on and on as one. 

I felt that I had reason to be sad. 

And oft was bowed beneath the weight I bore 

Of pain, of sorrow, and of loneliness ; 

But, Leon, since you came into my life, 

So truly glad of heart, so strong of soul, 

(So strong, perhaps, through being truly glad) 

I have begun to think we often wrong 

Each other being sad, or seeming so ; 

For thus we add, although unconsciously, 



92 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Unto the burdens others bear in Hfe. 

Some might stand firm beneath their heavy loads, 

Did we not weakly put our own on them, 

Thus adding, it may be, 'the fatal straw' 

That bends and breaks an overburdened back." 

"But I, " said Leon, drawing her to him, 
' ' Shall neither be nor seem glad any more 
Until my little song-bird, taught of God 
To sweetly sing, shall come to fill my home, 
And thrill my heart, with wondrous melody. 
What reason, dear, to wait until the Spring, 
When Spring already is in both our hearts, 
And beauteous flowers bloom beside the path 
We shall together tread, hand clasped in hand, 
O'er life's short way? A way too short, if we 
Consider well, for two whose souls are one 
To walk upon the briefest while, apart. " 

Virginia's love could not deny to him 
A thing it was not wrong for love to yield. 
And she consented to become his wife 
On Christmas eve. 

The marriage, which took place 
Before the clock struck noon, was solemnized 
At Laureldale, and in that dainty room 
Of blue and white in which, so recently. 
The two became acquainted. But as lives 
Are less correctly measured by men's days 
Than by their deeds, so love, as well, can scarce 
Be judged according to the length of time 
That has elapsed since heart first answered heart. 
But by the depth and truth with which one feels. 
It was a quiet wedding, with but few 
Attending, — mostly simple country folk. 
The kindly neighbors of the gifted bride. 



MARRIAGE 93 

Virginia seemed more pale than usual 
Amid the group of rosy, robust girls 
Surrounding her, — a fragile snow-drop found 
Upon a bed where crimson poppies bloom. 
Beneath an arch of holly, red with fruit, 
From which was swung a bell of mistletoe, 
The couple stood, and said the simple words 
That made them man and wife, till death should 

part. 
When the good preacher had prayed earnestly 
That God would bless and sanctify this bond, 
The guests advanced to wish, each in his way, 
The two 'bon voyage' on the sea of life. 

With merry chat and laughter passed the time 

Until the hour for parting came, and all, 

Both old and young, the most enjoyed that hour 

In which the frosted bride-maids' cake was cut, 

Disclosing, amid laughter, fortunes three: 

For her who found a thimble in her slice, 

A life of toil and maidenhood ; for her 

Who found a silver coin, great future wealth; 

While she who found a ring of shining gold. 

Would love and marry ere another year. 

With what an eagerness Youth grasps at things 
That playfully pretend, and which she knows 
But only do, and only can, pretend 
To foretell what the future holds in store ! 
And while, with smiling lips, she lightly says : 
" 'Tis all in fun; who cares, and who believes?" 
Within she whispers : " It may be ! Who knows ?' ' 
And oft, could she but see and know the truth, 
The thing she happily anticipates 
Would bring, if granted, greater grief to her 
Than that she prays forever to be spared. 



94 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Thus Youth desires to peer beyond ; but Age, 
Who learned so much within the school of life, 
And from the teacher, stem Experience, 
Has learned, withal, to render thanks to God 
Because, between the Now and the To-Be, 
Suspends a veil no eye may penetrate. 

Too soon the time for their departure came. 
And as, among their friends, to say goodbye. 
The bride and bride-groom stood, the man's quick 

ear 
Caught certain words not said for him to hear, 
And not, he understood, unkindly meant. 
Though he was glad Virginia heard them not. 

"Do you suppose," one asked, in undertones 
She thought none heard save he to whom she 

spoke, 
"He married her for pity? For she is 
So delicate, — and crippled." 

Leon turned 
On her a look that showed she had been heard. 
Expressing indignation and surprise. 
As though he would exclaim, in sudden wrath: 
"What! I, who am unworthy of her love, 
Do marry her for pity? Would a stone 
Upon the ground, think you, presume to look 
With pity on a star within the sky?" 

But he had too much tenderness of heart 
To feel unkindly long toward one who meant 
No malice, and too courteous was to fail 
To make apology for having turned 
On her that look — impulsive though it was — 
Of high displeasure. So, approaching her, 
He held his hand out, saying pleasantly, 



MARRIAGE 95 

And in a tone that only she might hear, 

And he who stood beside her: "So, Miss Weir, 

'Tis now farewell,— a word we idly speak 

So oftentimes; and yet a word that may, 

Within itself, convey a prayer if it 

Be spoken prayerfully. May you fare well 

In that new life the ring within the cake 

Foretold for you — a bride to be in less 

Than one short year. " 

She smiled and deeply blushed. 
While her companion, his eyes lit with love 
He sought not to conceal, laughed as he looked 
On her confusion, whereby Leon guessed 
The ring, for once, had prophesied aright. 

' ' May he who comes to reign king o'er your heart 
Stand straight of soul ; then, if his body bow 
A wee bit to the ground, 'twill matter not. 
And you will love him none the less because 
He wears (he being Soul) a misfit garb 
Awhile on earth. 'Tis crooked souls, forsooth, 
And not bowed shoulders, most need sympathy. 
And now at last the final word : Farewell ; 
The prayer, sincerely uttered: Fare-you-well. " 

At Leon's home the rooms were gaily draped 
With garlands, and the windows were bedecked 
With holly wreaths, amid whose shining leaves 
The sparkling berries peeped out here and there 
To lend a gladder radiance to a scene 
Already bright. Above "The Holy Night," 
A picture in which angels soared and sang, 
Two shepherd staffs, designed of evergreen. 
Were crossed, and held together by a star, 
Made, too, of Christmas leaves and berries, thus 
Completing such a decorative piece 



96 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

As emblemized the coming of the Child 

Into the world. The stairway in the hall 

Was garlanded, and from the chandelier 

A sprig of waxen mistletoe looked down, 

A challenge to the gay young man to make 

The pretty maiden found beneath it pay 

The penalty. Almost it seemed, one saw 

Diminutive and dainty dryads move 

Among the leaves, and heard them laugh because 

In this, their merry game of hide and seek, 

They ever could escape from being seen. 

The very atmosphere about the place 

Breathed gladness and good-will; who entered 

there 
Scarce needed to be greeted with the words : 
' ' A merry, merry Christmas ! ' ' since so well 
Had skillful, loving hands expressed the wish. 

The lady who thus made the place home-like, 
Now met the bride, with outstretched hands, and 

kiss 
Of welcome, at the door. 

"A welcome home, 
Dear little girl, — my daughter brought to me 
This Christmas-tide." 

Virginia, looking up 
To Leon's lovely, loving mother, saw. 
Beneath a crown of snow-white, waving hair, 
A face as fair and smooth as was her own, 
But rosier, and merry as an elf's. 
As though the frosts of winter, passing o'er. 
Had left her not untouched, and yet had touched 
Nor heart nor health. A woman large she was. 
And strong and good enough, Virginia felt, 
With the infirmities and littleness 
Of others to bear kindly, whether these 



MARRIAGE 97 

Were of the flesh or spirit. And, withal, 
So mother!y she seemed, with her white hair 
And tender face, and with her hands outheld 
So lovingly, the bride exclaimed, in voice 
Of glad surprise; "dear Mother!" as might one 
Who'd found some rare and unsought treasure. 

Soon 
The one, with graceful, gracious tact, had led 
The other to the bridal chamber, where. 
Instead of holly wreaths, each window framed 
A wreath of laurel, and the walls were hung 
With garlands of the same. Upon a stand 
A vase of long stemmed bridal roses stood. 
Exhaling their sweet fragrance with no more 
Unconsciousness, I ween, than lovely souls. 
To blossom grown through sun and shade of life, 
Exhale their sweetness. 

"Ah," Virginia said, 
And drew a long, deep breath the while she bent 
And touched them tenderly with hands that 

seemed 
Themselves caresses : "I am glad of these ; 
You must have known how dear unto my heart 
Are roses ! And the laurel : one would think 
It grew at Laureldale, and knew me there, 
With such 'familiar grace' it speaks to me, 
As if we were old friends. " 

"It did grow there, " 
And Mistress Grey laughed as she saw the look 
So mystified upon Virginia's face. 
Proceeding to explain : ' ' 'Twas Leon's plan ; 
He had it shipped, unknown to you, my dear. 
That you might have a bit of your old home 
To greet you in the new. But now, dear girl. 
You're weary, one can see, and you must rest 
Here quietly awhile. Let me undo 



98 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Your cloak ; nay, nay, let Leah be ! I will 

Attend to this, for what are mothers for 

If not to wait upon their 'little ones,' 

And give them comfort when and as they can? 

I fain would brush your hair, too, which I see 

Is full as beautiful as Leon said — 

As long and soft and waving. " 

"I am glad," 
Virginia said, "it pleases you; 'tis worn 
Thus loosely both because I feel its weight 
More otherwise, and that it thus conceals 
Somewhat, at least, my sore deformity. 
Is it deception, think you, to conceal 
From others' view an imperfection one 
Can never overcome, and which she knows 
Unsightly to all eyes that look on it ? 
I think 'tis not; but, rather, I believe 
It is a duty that we owe ourselves 
And owe each other (most of any those 
With whom we dwell), to be becoming both 
In dress and bearing. Many recognize 
The obligation to do well, but few 
Quite realize the duty to look well, 
Home and abroad." 

" 'Tis true, " said Mistress Grey; 
' ' But you have sermonized enough, and I 
Shall leave you. When I send up Leah, dress 
For dinner, and come out. I've drawn the couch 
Close to the fire, see ! You surely will 
Not fail to take a nap. " 

She stooped and tucked 
The cover round Virginia, kissed her twice, 
Then bade her : " Do be good and go to sleep ! " 

When she was gone, and her receding steps 
Alone brought proof of her reality, 



MARRIAGE 99 

Virginia felt as one roused in the midst 
Of a glad dream, who fain would sleep again, 
In hope the dream might visit her once more. 
Though Mistress Grey had chattered lightly on, 
And said not much, her chatter was not such 
As wounds or pricks, as is the case with some 
Of ready speech, more careless than unkind; 
And careless words can cut as deep as words 
Unkindly meant. But not in speech she gave 
The best expression of herself : for she 
Was one of those large-hearted ones who yield 
Their generous lives to others, day by day, 
Through years that follow years, in services 
That bring them no return. Her every deed 
However trivial, spoke love, and if 
Sometimes a word within itself had seemed 
Unkind, the kindly glance, or tone, or touch. 
By which it was accompanied, but proved 
A meaning new no dictionary yields, 
Though classed as "Unabridged." Virginia, 

whom 
For so long none had served save Leah, could 
But feel a thrill of gladness thus to find 
In Leon's house one so considerate, 
To whom, henceforth, herself could ever give 
The dear name, "mother." With such pleasant 

thoughts 
For company, the girl was occupied. 
And ere she felt a wish to close her eyes 
In slumber, Leah came to say 'twas time 
To dress for dinner. She arose, and donned 
A Grecian gown, whose simple, classic folds 
Made her seem somewhat taller than she was ; 
Whose shade of blue, like that the sky assumes 
On cloudless summer days, intensified 
The blue of her deep eyes, and harmonized 

LOFC. 



100 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Well with the border, whose design was wrought 
In threads of gold. She wore no jewelry, 
Nor thought of flowers for adornment, though 
Her fragrant roses stood in tempting view. 

Then Leon came. He paused to look on her, 
And his approval of her simple dress 
His dark eyes spoke. 

"And will I do?" she asked, 
Half fearing she might not have chosen well 
For others' eyes, though she failed not to see 
Her husband liked her so. 

"You will, indeed," 
He cried ; then added : ' ' Dear, you're beautiful ; 
And yet — you need — ah, here they are ! You need 
Cream roses." 

He arranged and pinned them on 
With careful art, producing the effect 
Of careless grace, then stepped apart, as if 
To view a picture, saying : ' ' Dear, some day 
I'll paint you so. " 

Ere she could make reply, 
He came again, and playfully knelt down 
Before her, kissing her fair hand the while 
He said , half reverently : "My little queen ! ' ' 

She laughingly protested: "One can scarce 
Be little and be queenly!" 

But he did 
Not quite agree, and told her she could be. 
And was in truth, all he deemed dear and good. 
When he arose, and drew her close to him. 
She whispered brokenly, with eyes grown moist : 
"God keep us always close together, love, 



MARRIAGE 101 

Through smiles and tears, through pleasures and 

through griefs, 
Until called hence." 

With joy and pleasure sped 
The Christmas-tide, the season of good will 
When hearts grow warm, and hands let freely fall 
Love's goodly gifts. I know not whether some 
Grow glad and generous at Christmas time 
But through contagion, or if all of us 
Are touched by the sweet spirit of that One 
Who came, a little child, from heav'n to earth 
One star-lit night. God's rare and precious Gift 
To man was He, of whom the angels said : 
"I bring * * good tidings of great joy, which shall 
Be to all people. " * * "Unto you is bom 
This day * * * a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. " 

' ' Good tidings of great joy ! ' ' Oh, that we all 
Might feel them so, indeed ! — as did a child — 
An ignorant little waif — to whom someone 
Had kindly told the story of Christ's birth. 
Once, ill, and lying in a hospital. 
She asked a nurse : ' ' Have you the time to hear 
A splendid story?" 

' ' No, indeed ! ' ' the nurse 
Made answer; then repented that she spoke 
So hastily, and asked : ' ' What did you wish 
To tell me, dear?" 

" 'Bout Jesus bein' homed," 
Was the reply. 

"Why, I have long known that — 
Since long before you came into the world!" 

"I didn't think (the child's eyes had grown large 
With wonder) people ever could look glum 



102 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

That knew 'bout little Jesus bein' bomed. " 

She was unlike the long-faced christian who 

Believes he cannot, with a cheerful face, 

Best serve his Lord, but goes about his work 

With gloomy brow, as if the God who made 

The sun for day, and millions of bright stars 

To pierce night's dark, would not be pleased to see 

The light of gladness in His children's eyes. 

They better serve who do so joyously, 

For so they oft awaken other souls 

To joy and faith in God, as bright sunbeams, 

Unto our couches stealing at the mom. 

Arouse us from our sleep to recognize 

Them as the day-king's true embassadors. 

'Tis said the milky way, that spans the sky, 
Is the accumulated light of stars 
Innumerable, which shine in their fixed spheres 
Unseen by us, because so far from earth. 
Each, shining in its own appointed place, 
Sends forth its rays to mingle with the rays 
Of light from countless other gleaming stars 
That make — for angel feet to tread, perhaps — 
A silvery pathway o'er a bright-gemmed field 
No boundary marks. 

If each of Christ's redeemed, 
Who feels within himself the strength and joy 
Of life renewed, would lend his radiance 
Unto all men, thus shedding light abroad — 
As do the stars — to blend with others' light. 
With what reflected glory would the world 
Become illumined ! But, alas ! — we hide 
Our little light, nor transmute into pow'r 
The joy in us, although we know full well 
If left unused for any length of time, 



MARRIAGE 103 

Though it be physical or spiritual, 

It shrinks to what we cannot use, or keep. 

One day when wintry winds had fled afar, 

Virginia went to Leon's studio. 

Her work in hand, to sit with him awhile, 

As oft she did, and watch dead canvas wake 

To glowing life beneath his skillful touch. 

She walked tiptoe; she loved to come sometimes 

Upon him suddenly, and see his face 

Light up at sight of her. With eager hand 

She pushed apart the heavy, fringed portieres, 

And stepped into the room, a merry laugh 

Upon her lips, and in her eyes a look 

Of glad expectancy. A lady stood 

In converse with the artist, and his bride 

Turned to depart, apologizing, when 

The visitor advanced, and thus exclaimed : 

"Virginia! Have you, then, forgotten me?" 

That voice, an echo of the far-off past ! 

It could belong to only one, and she, 

More lovely than of old — her eyes and cheeks 

Aglow with radiant health, her soft pink skin 

Transparent as the petals of a rose, 

And her full form describing lines and curves 

Of perfect grace — was such a beauteous one 

As but in visions had the poet seen. 

Virginia caught her breath, she scarcely knew 

If most with admiration or surprise. 

And answered: "Julia!" 

"Yes, 'tis I. You seem 
Astonished to behold me once again 
In mortal flesh. I'm just from Europe, — glad 
To feel my feet once more on native soil, 
Although the time was passed most pleasantly 



104 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

For six months there. But you — have you come 

up 
To spend a while with Mistress Grey? I do 
Suspect you'll have a portrait made while here 
If you — " 

But Leon interrputed her : 
* * It seems you have not heard quite all the news 
Within a day, as but a moment since 
You claimed you had. Congratulations would 
Not come amiss to one who's won his bride 
Since you were here. Virginia and myself 
Were wed three months agone, on Christmas eve. " 

The color faded from the woman's cheeks, 
And she could not command herself to speak 
Within the moment. Then, with voice subdued, 
She wished them happiness upon life's way, 
But said she sorrowed she could not do so 
In language musical to poets' ears. 
Immediately she bade the two goodbye, 
And started out, when Leon 'minded her 
They had not quite agreed upon one point 
Concerning the new portrait she wished made. 

"The portrait? " she inquired, appearing dazed, 

Forgetting she had made it the excuse 

To bring her to the side of Leon Grey. 

At last, remembering, she blushed and said, 

Quite wearily: "Ah, let it wait awhile. 

Until I'm rested from my journey home ! 

It is a tedious trip across the sea. 

With no mile-posts to say to us, at times, 

'We're nearer home, at least, another mile.' " 

When finally the heavy portieres closed 
Behind their visitor, the two thus left 



MARRIAGE 105 

Together looked into each other's eyes, 

Nor spoke till she had passed into the street. 

"And so," said Leon then, half pityingly, 

"The Julia of your childhood, and the girl 

False both to me and to her better self, 

We have this morn discovered to be one. 

She never found, perhaps she never sought, 

As your dear father prayed she some time would, 

The pearl of truth. " 

Virginia mused aloud: 
"How beautiful she is!" 

And then, with eyes 
Tear moistened, and her pensive face aglow 
With pity, said: "She loves you, Leon." 

"Nay!" 
He contradicted, shaking his fine head ; 
"Such women know not how to love, my Sweet. " 

"All women learn, or soon or late, to love 
To some degree and in some fashion, " she 
Declared, while he smiled at her earnestness, 
"Though not all with abiding love and deep: 
And Julia, to the depth and measure she 
Is capable of feeling, loves you, dear. " 

"Come! Come!" a voice exclaimed. The por- 
tieres moved. 
And parted presently, revealing thus 
The rosy, smiling face of Mistress Grey, 
Who chided playfully: "You promised me, 
You naughty child, to show me how to set 
Carnation slips for rooting!" 

"So I did," 
The girl agreed. "What then? You cannot 
say," 



106 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

She looked up roguishly, and laughed, ' ' I named 
The very moment I would do the deed : 
I said this morning, and the morning is 
Not yet departed." 

"Very true. But come — 
A busy housewife cannot oftentimes 
Do things the moment that she would ; she learns 
To be content to do them when she can. " 

Virginia worked a while with Mistress Grey 

Among the flow'rs, then came again indoors, 

And wrote until the mom had slipped away. 

A quiet little room adjoined her own, 

Which had for her own needs been set apart, 

And furnished as a study. On her desk 

A statuette of gleaming marble stood, 

A figure so sincere in all details, 

It seemed to have been seized and petrified 

E'en in the very thought and act of life. 

'Twas Hamlet, bowed in thought, within his hand 

That human skull he picked up from the ground, 

And discoursed on, not to Horatio's 

True delectation only, but as well 

To the delight of all who read and think. 

A sculptor who had read Virginia's book. 

And found therein, with more ambitious songs, 

Perhaps, a simple sonnet set to words 

In praise of Shakespeare's "Melancholy Dane," 

Had copied thus in miniature for her 

This figure from the Gower monument 

At Stratford. From the softly tinted walls. 

The pictures of the authors she liked best — 

Engraved in black and white, their frames of black 

A little touched with white — looked silently 

Upon her at her desk, all writers whom 

In spirit she communed with oftentimes. 



MARRIAGE 107 

Outside her window, on a trellis, trailed 

A yellow jessamine — that flower by which 

The South is diademed in early spring. 

Some branches, long and slender, had o'er topped 

The frame, and now drooped downward toward 

the ground, 
Each swaying joyously in every breeze, 
Rejoicing in the freedom thus attained. 
The buds had but begun to show their gold ; 
Yet, with a few more days of balmy air; — 
A few more days of warm, persuasive sun, 
A thousand sunny-hearted, yellow bells 
Would be unfurled to fling sweet fragrance out 
(If not sweet music) freely unto all ; 
Thereafter soon to lowly fall to earth, 
Still fair and still unfaded, like a youth 
Cut down by death, ere sickness has had time 
To rob him of his beauty. 

In this room, 
Uninterrupted, worked the poetess 
Awhile each day. Aesthetic, lovely things 
By her were not considered luxuries, 
But means conducive to the fullest growth 
Of mind and character; for these expand 
Beneath the influence of the beautiful. 
As flowers unfold beneath the warmth and light, 
Unconsciously ; and beauty, to some souls. 
Is indispensable as bread to flesh. 
If, through some adverse circumstance of life, 
It is withheld, as oft it is, from these. 
They hunger for it with a longing that 
Amounts to sorrow, snatching eagerly, 
As starving men snatch food, the few rare bits 
Life yields to them. If such could look each day 
On some inspiring, worthy work of art ; 
Could read a noble verse or paragraph. 



108 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

They might awaken to some latent force 

Within themselves; some great yet slumbering 

power 
They dream not of, creative of high things. 
And this attests it is the God in us 
That seeks expression, for ourselves, alas! 
Know not, ofttimes, what message we would bear, 
Nor in what manner speak, till things without 
Have qickened into life the Thing within. 

So came the California Sculptor, he 

Devoid of speech and hearing, to his art 

And to himself. He always loved to draw, 

But not till he had grown to full manhood 

Did Douglas Tilden dream what he might be. 

He saw a model once, a lad had made — 

A copy of a statue — and was so 

Impressed that he began immediately 

The study of the art of sculpture, now 

His medium of expression. Though his tongue 

Be silent, yet he speaks unto the world 

In no uncertain voice ; and though his ears 

Be deaf to sound, his soul is all attuned 

To harmony. The model he had seen, 

And which to you or me had been, perhaps, 

A trifle only, was to him the call 

Unto a broader, fairer path in life, 

Which he, to his enrichment and our own, 

Failed not to heed. 

Though thus conditions were 
Conducive both to better, easier work, 
Virginia could but feel, when face to face 
With her ideals, that isolation which 
All artists feel, whatever be the tools 



MARRIAGE 109 

With which they toil, when thought, conceived 

and come 
To fullness in their souls, at last must be 
Delivered. For, as Whistler one time said 
With truth : "At every moment of his life 
That he is venturing, the artist is 
A monument of solitude that leads 
To sadness. " Even his completed work. 
He feels, fails to reveal him verily. 
Or to convey the message to mankind 
He sought to speak. We, judging by the end 
He has attained, declare him truly great, — 
His work a monumental masterpiece; 
While he who cannot (or will not !) lose sight 
Of his ideal, looks on himself as small. 
And on his high achievement as but low. 
Yet true expression came more freely now 
To glad Virginia, than in earlier work. 
In the appreciation of the two 
Who loved her so devotedly, she found 
True inspiration, and accomplished more 
Within a given time than formerly. 
She was susceptible to atmosphere. 
And as on warm, sunshiny days, she was 
More stong of body, so her spirit felt 
The glow of warm affection, and grew strong 
To will and do. Upon an idyl she 
Was now engaged, a work of broader scope 
Than aught she had attempted hitherto, 
And which she hoped to make full good enough 
To dedicate to Leon. She had read 
Selections, here and there, aloud to him. 
But had not yet disclosed the general plan. 
Nor told her wish to lay the finished book, 
One worthy of acceptance, at his feet. 



110 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

The Spring was merged in Summer, and the month 
Of roses came and went before the two 
Laid work aside, and went to L-aureldale 
For needed rest. Miss Jane was truly glad 
To see them there, and they rejoiced to be 
Once more among the haunts they knew and loved. 
It seemed the laurels, green and shining, had 
Been clothed anew to greet their old comrade, 
Who loved them none the less because a love 
More perfect and more high, which should abide 
Beyond life's little day, had come to her. 

They spent long, lazy days ; for Leon said : 
' ' Who knows not how to put aside his task 
When time for play has come, or to be lost 
In full enjoyment of true idleness. 
Will go back to his duties unrefreshed 
Of body and of mind. " 

He read aloud, 
Virginia lying idly on the couch. 
Or sitting in a rocker at his side. 
Engaged upon some dainty needlework. 
His voice was one for reading, so it seemed, 
Being full and mellow, and he understood 
How to adapt it to the author's mood 
And meaning. Oft he paused, and they conversed 
Of many things suggested by some thought 
That in the book was given utterance. 
Oft drifting far and farther from the source 
Where they began till they, the poet said, 
Were lost at last upon a wide, deep sea. 
Though Leon had declared they must not work, 
One day he found Virginia at her desk. 
And chided her for disobeying him. 

"But, dear," she said, and looked up wistfully 



MARRIAGE 111 

"The spirit strives within me so for speech, 

I cannot say it nay. I truly tried 

To be a good child, Leon, " and she smiled ; 

But there are moments when my being turns 
With such insistence to this task, and deep 
Within me voices urge with so great pow'r, 
Methinks my heart would break could I not write. 
It is as if all I have borne and done 
Has been but preparation to this end, 
To lead to it, as rivers meet and flow 
On toward the sea. " 

He bent and took her face 
Between his hands, and kissed her tenderly. 
" 'Tis inspiration, dear. You can but write 
When you feel so, for, truly, God then speaks. 
I dare not stand, though for a little space, 
Between His voice and you. And yet, dear one. 
Take good care of the casket that enfolds 
Your songful soul ; the world has need of songs 
Such as you sing ; and I — I always need 
My wee song-bird. " 

"Am I not well?" she asked, 
And looked up, smiling. 

"Aye, you do look well, " 
He answered her. "Your cheeks, I ween, have 

robbed 
The roses of a tiny tinge of pink : 
And, dear, why, soon you'll have a double chin. 
And dimples playing either side your mouth ! 
Do you not know, my Sweet, these things become 
Not poets in whom people look to find 
Sad poverty of flesh as well as purse?" 

She ordered him, with laughter, from the room, 
And went on joyously with that dear task 



112 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

His hearty approbation made more dear. 

Once, while they lingered still atLaureldale, 

Virginia hid her face on Leon's breast, 

And whispered that which made him hold her 

close, 
And call her softly, "little mother." Her 
Conception of the mother's part in life, 
As of the poet's, was most high, and she 
Began to make glad preparation for 
Her unborn child. The least to be achieved, 
She felt, was fashioning the garments, white 
And soft and dainty, he should wear, though this 
Was necessary, and, for loving hands, 
A joyous task. But while she worked at these, 
Her mind was fixed on noble things, and pure. 
And she thought less of laces and of lawns. 
Than of the child 'twas hers to help God make 
In His own image. That his body might 
Be strong, she followed strictly laws of health. 
Ignoring her own pleasure, oftentimes, 
In dieting and exercising as 
His needs required ; that her child's spirit might 
Be buoyant, she now practiced cheerfulness. 
And looked before and up with steadfast faith; 
And that his soul to things most beautiful 
And good in life might be responsive, she 
Kept constantly before her spirit sight 
The things most lovely and most good it had 
Been hers to know. Thus for his coming she 
Made ready, looking gladly toward the time 
Of his advent. 

"We should bequeath our best, " 
She mused, "unto the child God sends to us; 
We know not for what end he has come down 
Into our world, nor can we guess what need 



MARRIAGE 113 

May sometimes rise for that 'tis ours to make 

His heritage. It is his right to find 

A welcome here, and joyous mother-love 

Awaiting him. Such love, thus from the first, 

Tends to his perfect, true development, 

And she fails somewhat in the mother's part 

Who joys not that her baby fives in her. 

Methinks the song of praise that Mary sang, 

While visiting the good Elizabeth, 

Could but have had its influence on the life 

Of that most blessed Babe she gladly bore. " 

One autumn day the two, at home again, 

With flowers heaped about them everywhere, 

Worked busily. That day the studio 

Would be thrown open to all visitors, 

And they, for the occasion, would bedeck 

The house with roses and chrysanthemums. 

Virginia, one time pausing in her task, 

Held up two flowers, saying thoughtfully: 

"Who would believe these two chrysanthemums 

Were grown upon a common mother- plant? 

This one, a downy ball of purest white, 

So truly has attained maturity, 

The petals stand apart, each carved and curved 

To individual loveliness, and all 

Combining to make beautiful the whole. 

It seems they might be scattered by a breath. 

As when we blow upon the feathery ball 

Of dandelion seed, and start them forth, — 

A fleet of sail-ships on the sea of air, — 

To anchor in ports sometimes far away 

And far apart. The other, see ! was plucked 

Before it had fulfilled the promise made 

Within the bud. Through no fault of its own. 

It suffers sadly by comparison 



114 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

With its maturer, fairer sister- flower; 
It seems, with its corolla close incurled, 
Its petals covering its store of gold, 
A thing of selfish greed. 'Tis piteous 
For flowers to be gathered ere their prime ; 
For flowers live, and like all living things, 
Should have the opportunity to grow, 
As near as may be, to perfection, thus 
Approaching the Creator's thought of them." 

"But roses," Leon answered, smilingly, 
"Though gathered ere developed to their full, 
Are perfect still, for what is lovelier 
Than one half-blown?" 

"Ah, roses!" and she bent 
And rested her pale cheek against their pink. 
' ' Do you remember, Leon, that when first 
You went to Laureldale,they were in bloom? 
And when you brought me here, they were the 

first 
Fair flowers to smile on me in my new home. 
It seems, indeed, the path of life for me 
Is over-strewn with 'roses, all the way.' " 



DEATH 
''^ Death is the gate of life!''' 



-Bailey. 



BOOK IV 



They dared not tell Virginia he was dead, 
Lest the frail thread by which she clung to life 
Should snap in twain. But she divined the truth, 
And whispered: " 'Twas too dear and sweet a 

hope, 
Dear Leon, was it not?" 

"Remember, dear," 
He made reply, "God knoweth, doeth, best; 
He is all-wise and good. " 

"Indeed, I know," 
She said, "that God is good: He gave me you. 
But, oh, my husband, I would hold my babe. 
For but a little while, upon my breast ! 
I fain would clasp him close within mine arms, 
Though he is dead, his face against mine own, 
As gladder mothers hold their little ones 
Who live and laugh." 

"You may, dear one, 
When they have put the garments on that these 
Dear hands have fashioned. You, whose life has 

known 
So much of bitter sorrow, will not be 
More sad for one that's sweet to look back on. " 

"Another scarce had understood, I ween," 
Virginia murmured low, "this plea of one H 
Who cherished so the hope of motherhood. 
But 'twas a hope too precious to become 
Reality with me, who had not strength ;, 

117 



118 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Sufficient for myself and unborn child. " 

"Rest now," said Leon, for her cheeks were 

flushed, 
As with high fever, and her fragile form 
Was all aquiver with the fast pulse throbs 
Which her strong will found uncontrollable. 

' ' I am not weary. ' ' But she closed her eyes, 
And her long, curling lashes swept her cheeks. 
And trembled there, while she wooed kindly sleep 
To come to her, since Leon wished it so. 

Five, ten, and fifteen minutes passed, and still 

Sleep from the patient seemed afar. But soon 

More deeply, with more regularity, 

She breathed, until it seemed she sweetly slept. 

And Leon's heart was comforted by hope 

Such rest would do her good. But, with a start. 

She woke and sobbed : "I saw a baby-face — 

A face as white as marble, and with eyes 

Fast closed in death! Oh, Leon, has our babe 

Been taken hence before I could look once 

Into his dear, sweet eyes?" 

' ' He sleeps, Sweetheart, 
He only sleeps ; and you into his eyes 
Will look some other while, some other where, 
Though never here. Now do not talk, but rest ; 
Rest and grow strong for sake of our true love. " 

Ere long she slumbered sweetly. Word was borne 
From room to room, in whispers hushed: "she 

sleeps ! 
Be still, and all may yet he well with her, 
And those who love her. " 



DEATH 119 

Scarce the words had died 
On lips too glad, alas! to utter them, 
When she awoke, and turned her shining eyes 
On Leon, who was sitting silently 
Beside her pillow. 

"Oh, I must have slept 
So long that time!" she cried. 

"Why.no," he said; 
"You did no more than doze a little, dear; 
One could not call it sleeping." 

"Then," she said, 
"While I but dozed, I dreamed a dream as long 
As is the way from earth to paradise. 
And sweet as heaven is, for 'twas of heav'n, 
And of glad angels, and the Shepherd good 
Who came to greet me, holding our wee babe 
So tenderly. " 

"Oh, say not so, mine own!" 

"You will not shrink from speech of that dear 

one," 
She said, "when you hear all that I have seen. " 

But 'twas not talk of the departed grieved 
His heart : a nameless fear tugged at his soul. 
And would not loose its hold, though wildly he 
Prayed for deliverance from its stem clutch. 

"When you hear all, " continued his loved wife, 
' ' Of that long dream I dreamed so rapidly. 
You'll see we should not grieve despairingly. 
It seemed bright portals opened unto me. 
And my unworthiness, like some loose robe. 
Slipped from my consciousness as I passed in. 
Where angels welcomed me, with faces glad. 
As we greet those we love, whose coming has 



120 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Seemed long delayed. They hovered close to me, 

And I seemed even strong and straight as they, 

And moved as swiftly on my feet, which touched 

The ground but lightly. We together passed 

From vale to vale, from hill to hill, and scarce 

I knew if I were leader or one led, 

We moved with harmony so rythmical, 

As of one mind. And as we thus moved on. 

We saw One coming toward us, with a smile 

Of wondrous sweetness on His face, and eyes 

Downdropped upon the tiny babe He bore — 

Our babe, as by my love I realized. 

And swift I ran to meet Him, with mine arms 

Extended toward the little child, whom He 

Did not withhold, but freely gave to me. 

And as He turned and slowly walked away. 

That wee one followed Him with wistful eyes, 

Nor looked on me, as though he felt Christ's care 

Still sweeter than a mother's ministry, 

And yearned for it. And while unto my heart, 

I pressed him close, and let mine eyes, too, gaze 

On that receding Form, beyond Him far 

I saw my father hastening toward me. 

With joyous footsteps. Ere we two had met, 

And ere my baby once into mine eyes 

Had looked, I woke to learn I had but dreamed. " 

"And were you grieved to learn you had but 
dreamed?" 

While yet he spoke, she said : "I am so glad 
God sent a dream to comfort my sad soul. 
And teach me that my baby needs me not. " 

"Aye, needs you not!" And Leon caught her 
hands, 



DEATH 121 

And kissed them rapturously, then cried again : 
"He needs you not, and we here need you so!" 

' ' I have grown weary, dear. Help me to turn 

Upon my side, that I may better rest, 

And resting, win back strength. For I would 

soon. 
For our affection's sake, be well again. 
And when I wake, do not that which I craved 
Awhile ago; for I would evermore 
Remember, through whatever 'waits me here, 
Our baby as he was in that glad dream, 
So rosy and so radiant with life. " 

Virginia finally was fast asleep. 
And Leon, who had kept a vigil long 
And weary, left her for a little while, 
With faithful Leah by to call him when 
She should awake. The negress, sitting low 
Upon the floor, her head bowed on her knees 
In deep'dejection, wept in silence while 
She listened for a movement or a sound 
From her beloved mistress. Still, aye, still 
She sat and waited ; still the silence was 
Unbroken; and Virginia Grey still slept 
When Leon came again unto his watch 
Beside the bed. One anxious look he cast 
Upon the calm white face upturned to his, — 
One look that told the soul had sped, and then, 
With anguished cry, he fell upon his knees, 
And sobbed : "Virginia, oh, my love, my love ! 
I cannot live with you gone forth from me 
So far — so far!" 

She answered not ; she would 
Not answer evermore though he his soul 
Should sob out in his sorrow. 



122 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

It was meet, 
Though Leon thought not of it then, that she 
Ascended to the fairer, better world 
At Eastertide. Upon her breast they laid 
Her little babe, whom her enfolding arm 
Seemed lovingly to hold; and in one hand 
Were laid sweet lilies of the valley, grown 
And blown at Laureldale. Beside her bier 
They placed a jardiniere in which there bloomed 
A tall Madonna lily, purely white 
As drifted snow, and beautiful as truth; 
But not more pure and not more beautiful 
Than she, the resurrection of whose soul 
It typified. Her hand, eight months before, 
Had set the bulb, a homely, scaly thing. 
Within the soil, when one could scarce believe 
It was a cradle in whose depths reposed 
A latent, living force that soon would 'wake, 
And grow to perfect loveliness and grace. 
As it had risen from the dark to light, 
Its outgrown hull discarded, and left low 
To moulder in the dust, so she arose. 
Her earthly growth attained, to chastely bloom 
In brighter realms. 

And though the heart believes 
In joy hereafter for the deathless soul. 
It can but grieve when Azrael bears afar 
One dearly loved. Whoever is bereaved. 
Can sympathize with her who, grieving, sobbed, 
When one had sought to comfort her : ' ' Ah, yes, 
I know the soul's in heaven ! But the grave 
Will hide the darling body, that I loved 
So tenderly." 

It is but natural 
For us to love the body ; for, although, 
When from the spirit separated, it 



DEATH 123 

Is but a shell cast off, 'tis yet, so long 

As union is preserved between the two, 

The "open sesame" by which all comes 

Unto the soul. 'Tis through the influence 

And ministry of members physical 

The spirit is awakened from its sleep, 

And quickened into animated life ; 

And by whatever sense ourselves are moved, 

We rise to knowledge through experience. 

Whoever notes the corresponding growth 

Of mind and body in a little child, 

Fails not to see how close the bond that holds 

The two together; aye, so close we might 

Declare the life they share their common life. 

Although the flesh seems oftentimes a weight 

To keep th' aspiring soul upon the ground. 

Again the spirit seems to upward soar. 

And hover o'er it, like an angel good 

To guard and guide. Itself the spirit stamps 

Upon the flesh, and, though immortal, grows 

But only by the things revealed to it 

Through mortal aids; and 'tis, also, through 

things 
That pass eventually away, it is 
Expressed, and made to others manifest. 
Therefore, 'twas more than clay which she be- 
moaned 
Who sobbed: "1 loved the body tenderly!" 



And Leon grieved, though firm was his heart's 

faith, 
For her whose form was now within the grave ; 
Whose soul by angels had been borne afar 
To come into a rich inheritance. 
"I cannot live with you gone forth from me 



124 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

So far — so far ! ' ' So, kneeling, he had sobbed 

In that first hour of grief ; and so he felt 

As days and weeks passed by, and still his heart 

Cried out for her sweet presence. Everywhere, 

It seemed, were things to 'mind him forcibly 

Of his great loss, and his large loneliness ; 

E'en things inanimate seemed sorrowful. 

As if they missed her touch, and wished for it 

Through days of desolation, long and drear. 

While Leon once sat at his easel, brush 
In hand, yet scarcely working for the weight 
Upon his saddened heart, his mother brought 
Into the room, to grace his centre stand, 
A cluster of pink roses, gathered while 
The dew of morning lingered on them still. 

"Look, dear," she said. "Are these not beau- 
tiful?" 

He turned, and as his eyes fell on the flowers, 
Involuntarily he shrank from them. 

"Forgive, my son!" she cried. "I might have 

known 
The sight of roses would be sorrowful : 
Virginia always was so fond of them. " 

"Tis I who need forgiveness, mother dear. " 
The son replied. "I should have hid from you 
The fact that roses quicken so my pain. 
And yet, since first I knew Virginia, they 
Have been suggestive to my mind of her. 
And I can but associate them now 
In ways that tend to sorrowing retrospect. 
Once she affirmed the path of life for her 



DEATH 125 

Seemed overstrewn with 'roses all the way, ' 
And I forgot, while she was with me here, 
That roses are beset, ofttimes, with thorns 
That prick, when we are least aware, deep wounds.' 

She took them out, and roses were not brought 

Again indoors, till Leon, having found 

His truer, stronger self, with grateful hand 

Himself culled them, glad there was left to him 

Much she had loved, that seemed a very part. 

Still near and visible, of her dear self. 

For Leon was not one to nurse a grief, 

However poignant. He who closely hugs 

His sorrow to his bosom, in despair 

To weep o'er that of which he is bereaved, 

Wrongs not himself alone, but all with whom 

He is associated in his life. 

So realizing, Leon mused in thought: 

"Though she's departed, never to return, 

I must not waste my powers bemoaning her. 

That which she was to me, she is today. 

And through eternal ages still will be. 

For love is of the spirit, not the flesh. 

I should not weep that she is gone away ; 

I rather should rejoice she once was here, 

And walked awhile — though such a little while — 

Beside me on the earth. Life is, in truth, 

A little journey, and we should no more 

Be sorrowful for days of pleasure past. 

Than travelers returned grieve for the scenes 

Oncelooked upon, and mourn because the friends, 

Who journeyed through lands beautiful with them, 

Are now afar. And should a tourist come 

From countries fair, with never word to say 

Of beauties seen, but making sad complaint 

That such and such an one had traveled far 



126 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

To fairer places than he visited, 

We scarce would credit him with gratitude, 

Or name him worthy to have seen that which 

He had beheld. Though with our loved ones gone 

We're lonely, and think longingly of scenes 

Their loveliness makes fair, let us be glad 

'Tis theirs to pass to worlds more beautiful. 

Attaining to a purer, higher plane. 

And ever to a clearer, broader view. " 

Resigned thus meekly to the will of God, 

And chastened by his sorrow, Leon gained 

By having lost. When the first shock had passed, 

He stood erect, more strong for having bent, 

As trees that lowly bow before the blast 

Have their life forces quickened in each cell, 

And so arise to newer, richer growth. 

Life is, to each of us, but that to which 

We are awake, and sorrow wakens us 

To things as beautiful and sweet as joy 

Can rouse in us. We thus learn fellowship 

With all who suffer, or in ages past 

Have suffered, and so come in closer touch 

With the most noble and most great of earth. 

And thus at last we better comprehend 

That blessed Man of Sorrows, who endured 

All things through boundless love of humankind ; 

That tender Brother and true Comforter 

Of sorrowing men. In dark Gethsemane 

Such agony He bore as mortals could 

Not bear and live ; so bitter was it. He 

Implored the Father to let pass the cup 

'Twas His to drink. ' ' Yet not my will, ' ' He said, 

"But thine be done;" and when we, too, have 

learned 
Like resignation to the Father's will. 



DEATH 127 

We are true brothers of the Christ enthroned, 
And worthy to be called the sons of God. 

Among the manuscripts Virginia left, 
The artist found at last the poem she. 
With love, had dedicated to himself, 
The highest, best achievement of a pen 
Whose poorest task, so worthily it wrought, 
Was not ignoble nor ignobly done. 
At first he thought 'twas what we contemplate 
With sad regret : a book left incomplete 
While sleeps the one in whose creative mind 
It was conceived, and by whose faithful hand. 
Had not death interposed, rare treasures would 
Have been unfolded to the eyes of men. 
There is but one thing in the world more sad 
Than tasks commenced, and left here incomplete; 
It is the task put off from time to time. 
And ne'er begun on earth, though it might be 
With truest ease attained. The marble block. 
From whose rough and unpolished bulk, it seems, 
The head and shoulders of a man emerge. 
Though not a finished work, yet speaking loud 
Of aspiration, is not wordless so ; 
While marble still uncut, a medium 
Through which art might find tongue, is voiceless 
stone. 

Virginia, he discovered, had not left 

Her masterpiece unfinished, though a note, 

Penned in parenthesis upon the page 

On which was written "Finis," showed the book 

Had been concluded but the morning ere 

She passed from earth. As Leon read, his heart, 

Though touched with sorrow to remember this 

Was the last message of his well beloved 



128 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Unto the world, was yet with pleasure thrilled 

Such beauty to uncover as before 

She never had expressed. From height to height 

In thought she had ascended, as if her 

Pure spirit had discarded more and more 

The cords that bound it, to at last soar free, 

Unhindered by the flesh. Her poem seemed 

A paeon of glad faith, and, had she known 

The veil of death so early would be dropped 

Between herself and him she loved, she scarce 

Had written words more fitted to console 

And to sustain in sorrow. i 

He thus mused 
Within himself: "With her, the eager mind 
Was stronger than the body, and the soul 
Aspired to heights so lofty, it could but 
Arise above the flesh, and leave it low — 
A shell from which the bird has flown to sing 
In sunnier realms. She was too pure and high 
For earth in human form, but it may be 
She hovers o'er me, guiding on and up 
To higher planes, and lovelier by far, 
Than I had reached with her beside me still. " 

Possessed yet more and more, as months passed 

by, 

Of this idea, the Soul witlpn the soul 

Of Leon knew but perfect calm and peace. 

And was unmoved, e'en while his sorrow surged 

O'er him anew, as ocean depths are still 

When waves above them roll on restlessly. 

One cannot put a deep heart-sorrow by 

Within a day, whatever be his faith. 

And only time, that leveler of all. 

Can teach assuagement of a grief. Yet tears 

Blind not, or blind not long, the eyes of those 



DEATH 129 

Who seek to find the good in everything ; 
And he within the vale beholds the stars 
As clearly as does he upon the heights. 

With purer aspiration, clearer sight, 

The artist sought expression through his art. 

All things to him had grown more beautiful. 

Not that 'S''irginia was beyond the earth. 

But that she once was of it, and had so 

Loved it that her exalted spirit seemed 

Now breathing through fair nature everywhere. 

Though he had said, the day she passed away. 

That she was gone "so far. " it sometimes seemed 

His wife was even nearer him in death 

Than she had been, or could have been, in life ; 

And that his life-work and his being felt 

The influence of her deep, abiding love 

More strongly than while she was still on earth. 

He painted rapidly and vividly, 

A power other than his own, it seemed. 

Impelling him, though gently, on and on, 

Till he surpassed himsel^f , achieving ends 

More noble than he had before attained. 

Two years had passed, and one day, as he stood 

Before his easel, there was borne to him 

A faint perfume, recalling something he 

Had known in days long passed, he scarce knew 

what; 
And, startled by the rustle of a skirt, 
Since he had heard no step, he turned to face 
Fair Julia once again. 

' ' Have you no word 
Of welcome for a traveler returned?" 



130 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

She held a hand out, smiling, and her cheeks, 
Though not so rosy as when last they met, 
Were dimpled still, while twixt her parted lips, 
Her polished teeth gleamed white as purest pearls. 
The artist greeted her with pleasant words, 
And they talked lightly on of many things, 
For much had happened while she was abroad, 
And she had much of interest to tell 
Regarding things beheld in foreign lands. 
She told of pictures she had looked upon, 
And said, while viewing them, she thought of him. 
Well knowing beauties, to which she was blind, 
Would, to his clearer vision, be revealed. 
And she, by music wonderful to hear. 
In old and dim cathedrals, had been thrilled 
Until her soul, like an aeolian harp 
The breezes play upon at their sweet will, 
Vibrated to the deep and mellow chords. 

She slowly walked about his studio. 

Observing, with apparent interest, 

The pictures he had painted recently. 

Soon she observed an easel, which was draped. 

Concealing thus the canvas upon it. 

Which, she surmised, might be unfinished still. 

The woman felt a strong wish to behold 

This curtained picture, but the artist passed 

To other things, nor spoke concerning it. 

When presently her host was called away, 

Some impulse drew her irresistibly 

To look upon this new achievement, which 

To his constituency, who for his work 

Watched eagerly, was all unknown. And why 

Should she not see it ere the masses did ? 

She loved him— oh, it was not sinful now 

To say so, feel so ! He was free at last, 



DEATH 131 

No longer bound by ties unbreakable ! 

She never had believed that Leon loved 

Virginia ; he but married her, she felt, 

Because herself had failed him in his youth, 

And man must marry where his heart is not 

If he have failed to marry where it is. 

He was so high, so mighty and so proud, 

He never had forgiven her for her 

Disloyalty, though he had loved her then. 

And loved her, doubtless, now. To men like him 

A woman must needs bow, and she, so sought, 

Would lowly stoop to win what she had lost. 

Though other men, less lofty and less proud, 

Were wont to kneel in homage at her feet. 

She was not used to meet repulse, and when. 

Two years before, she came from Europe, all 

Her being bent on winning to her side 

Him who had loved her once, to find him wed. 

It seemed her very heart-strings snapped in twain. 

She thought now of that mom — indelibly 
Engraved upon her memory — the morn 
Virginia joined them in the studio, 
And he had softly said she was his wife. 
His glorious eyes alight with — was it love 
Or pity? 'Twas not love, for he loved her ! 

She put an eager hand out tremblingly. 
And lifting, suddenly, the drapery. 
Disclosed a picture, at the sight of which 
She gave a stifled cry, her heart pierced through 
W^ith sudden pain. For in that glance she knew 
He loved her not, and never had loved her 
With love like that Virginia had aroused, — 
A love his brush had here memorialized. 



132 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Before a picture, still unfinished, sat 
An artist, in the act of painting, though 
'Twas not his hand, but one whose fingers lay- 
But lightly on his own, that moved the brush. 
An angel at his side was hovering, 
Her gleaming wings of snowy white outspread, 
And her white garments seeming like a cloud 
That might float upward, did the zephyrs stir, 
To join its sisters in the azure sky. 
She was bent down, a smile so radiant 
Upon her face, it seemed she had learned joy 
Such as no mortal knows, and yet for love 
Had come from fairer realms to earth again. 
It was Virginia's face, etherealized. 
As Julia saw, as all would see who had 
Once known the poet ; and the artist, though 
His face was turned away, upraised to hers. 
As Leon's self was recognizable. 
Her hand on his, to guide it and control. 
His glance upturned to meet her own, was such 
A story of affection that survives 
Death and the grave, as was to Julia's soul 
A revelation strange, yet beautiful. 

' ' Can such love be ? " she asked, ' ' and do the souls 

Of the departed thus come back again 

To hover near those they have loved and left?" 

She heard the step of Leon in the hall, 

But still, with eyes that seemed entranced, she 

looked 
Upon the picture, though she could have then 
Let drop the curtain to conceal her guilt. 
He crossed the threshold, and there paused, 

amazed 
That she should have such bold audacity, 



DEATH 133 

And angry that her eyes had been the first 
To look on that bom of his deathless love. 

"You, Julia!" he exclaimed, and to her side 
Stepped in a moment. Was she wholly lost 
To shame and honor^she, who, as a child, 
Had wronged Virginia ; as a maiden had 
Deceived himself ; and now as woman did 
This thing ignoble ? He half wished he might 
Behold that beauty perish which seemed but 
A cover to conceal a soul deformed ; 
And when he spoke again his voice was stern 
To harshness : " J ulia ! " 

Then she turned, and he 
Repented of the manner of his speech. 
And begged that she would pardon. 

"Yet," he said, 
"You had no right ; my mother had not looked 
Upon it yet." 

Her face was pale and drawn. 
And moistened with her tears. 

"But you'll forgive," 
She said, half wistfully. ' ' I have done wrong, 
And I regret I took such liberty; 
But I am glad to learn that in the world 
Is love like that." 

In Julia's azure eyes 
Was an expression of such sad appeal 
As Leon could not understand, and he 
Scarce knew what to reply. 

" 'Tis good to know," 
He answered her; "it makes glad heaven seem 
More near unto an ofttimes saddened world. " 

She turned to go, but lingered at the door, 
As fain to speak some word additional. 



134 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

' ' Perhaps, " the artist thought within himself, 
"She loved her husband better than we knew, 
And he thus brought to mind, her heart was 

touched 
To sadness by the picture. " 

Then aloud, 
To comfort her, he said : ' ' Believe me, there 
Are sadder things in life than loss by death 
Of those we love. " 

She caught her breath and looked 
Into his eyes. Then whispered, with white lips : 
' ' I know ! I know ! ' ' and, turning, went away 
Without a parting word. 

When she was gone, 
He worked upon the portrait of a child — 
A bright-faced little girl — which now was near 
Completion. His true brush, it seemed, had 

caught 
The innocent, glad spirit of the child. 
And one almost expected to behold 
Her suddenly become imbued with life. 
He had come more and more, as time had passed, 
To paint the faces and the fairy forms 
Of little ones, till he was sometimes called 
The children's artist. He was loved by them 
No more than by their mothers, for who so 
Befriends a little child, wins not alone 
Its childish love, but that of her, as well. 
Who gave it being. Such is mother-love. 
Or love of mothers worthy the dear name. 
They're touched by that by which their children 

are. 
And suffer or rejoice accordingly. 

One cannot truly love his fellowmen, 



DEATH 135 

And feel no wish to share with them the things 

By which his heart and Hfe have been enriched. 

And Leon, who so loved the beautiful, 

Yearned to reveal it to the little ones 

So dear to him ; he longed to help them grow 

Accustomed to the true and good in art, 

And to unveil their eyes to Nature's truth 

And loveliness. He knew — none better knew — 

How truly Art and Nature, twins in much 

Companion hearts that know and love them well ; 

How they are hand-maids of a bounteous God, 

To aid in distribution of His gifts 

Most gracious, and most graciously bestowed 

On all who will accept. Who is at heart 

Acquainted with these two, has pleasure far 

Beyond what he would otherwise enjoy; 

And for the pains and sorrows that may come 

To him, as they must come to all, in life. 

He knows sweet consolation. Souls attain 

To education, educators know. 

As truly through the eye as through the ear; 

How often, when we pause to hark, we hear 

Christ saying: "Look;" "Behold;" and finally 

His accusation : ' ' Having eyes to see. 

They see not. " All about us, every hour, 

Rich panoramas of delight unroll ; 

Light, color, motion, these are everywhere, 

Unseen by some, not that they have no sight, 

But that their souls, which might with clearness 

see. 
Are unawakened to the beautiful. 

As a memorial to Virginia — one. 
He knew she would approve of, did she know. 
The artist beautified the city schools 
With pictures, and with other works of art ; 



136 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

While he caused shrubs and flowers, that would 

bloom 
Before vacation, early in the spring, 
To be set on the grounds. For he believed 
Eyes that are trained in some things to behold 
True loveliness, will look for it in all ; 
And that the soul, to admiration roused 
Of something worthy, will itself mount up 
Unto a likeness of the thing admired. 
And so attain a fuller, higher growth. 
And those who have, as little children, learned 
Appreciation of the best in art. 
Are likelier to make attractive homes 
Whose influence, ever widening, shall touch 
Innumerable lives to their uplift. 
So, looking to the future of wee ones, 
Who had but started on their journey here, 
In memory of her whose earthly course 
Was done, he strove unto a noble end. 

And by and by, when years had come and gone, 
And when Miss Jane had passed to the Beyond, 
He made of dear-loved Laureldale a home 
For orphan children, those especially 
Who were afflicted. Hither oft he came. 
And hearts he had made glad grew gladder still 
At sight of him, while little ones, with shouts 
Of welcome, flocked about him joyously. 

Within a cabin, kindly built for her 
Upon the grounds, the negress Leah dwelt. 
Grown old and feeble now. She knew no need, 
For her ' ' young maussa " kept her well supplied, 
Rewarding her, as well as masters may 
Reward their servants for long faithfulness, 
For her past faithful serving. 



DEATH 137 

Once when he 
Asked Leah how she was, she made complaint, 
Low curtsying : ' ' La, sah, dis rheumatiz 
Gwine fetch me ter de ground, fo' sho, some day ; 
En I's been wond'rin, Maussa Leon, whar 
You's gwine ter lay me, when I's dead, ter sleep 
Twell God done soun' his trumpet?" 

He had seen 
The negress' strength was faihng, year by year, 
But had not thought where he, when she should 

die, 
Would bury her, and kindly he replied. 
Glad she would now express some preference : 
"Wherever you would like to lie, Maum Leah. " 

"It's des dis way, " she urged, "I done lie down 

So much upon de flo', right at de foot 

Ob Miss Virginia's bed, when she wuz sick, 

I mos' believe de angel ob de Lawd, 

When he come down frum heav'n, gwine look 

fo' me 
Right at meh honey's feet, en no whars else. 
En if I aint been buried dar, you see. 
What he gwine do? En wuss, what I gwine do?" 

He thought of her affection for his wife, 

Proved by long years of loving ministry ; 

Of how, in that last hour, she was alone 

With his dear one, and tears came to his eyes. 

He could not have denied, if he had wished, 

The simple boon she craved, whose granting cost 

Him nothing, and yet meant so much to her. 

And when she perished, at a ripe old age. 

The love of her "white folks " still strong in her, 

They buried her according to her wish. 



138 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

With firm resolve, forever faithfully 

Aspiring to his soul's most high ideals, 

The artist worked unto a worthy end. 

One far from mercenary. Yet his art 

Brought him abundant wealth, which he used 

well, 
Still looking to the end he most desired : 
The teaching of the true, the good, the fair, — 
Contributing through work, and his large wealth, 
To the upliftng of his fellowmen. 

There's royal blood in one who will, for gain. 

Not stoop to desecration of his art ; 

Such was a man whom once a millionaire. 

Dead to the things most noble that we know. 

Engaged to decorate his palace walls 

With large oil-paintings. As the artist, thrilled 

With inspiration, spread upon the space 

He was to paint a scene magnificent — 

One masters might have praised — the rich man 

came 
And stood beside him. His shrewd little eyes, 
Which long had looked upon the glint of gold, 
Were blinded to the truly beautiful, 
And that the colors were not dazzling bright 
Was all he saw. 

' ' I want not that, ' ' he said ; 
"I want more brilliant hues." 

And then went on 
To give instruction to the painter, who. 
With brush held lightly in his slender hand. 
Had paused to hear his patron's argument. 

"But that, " the artist answered, when the man 
Ceased speaking, "is not art. I'd not do work 
That I, for very shame, would blush to see 



DEATH 139 

Signed by my name. " 

"You'd not ! This, Sir, " the rich 
Man thundered, "is my house ! Upon its walls 
I'll have but just such pictures as I choose !" 

"And this, Sir, is my brush, " the artist said, 
Most quietly, ' the slave but of my art ; 
I would not sell it for ignoble use, 
Though I should starve. " 

Then he went forth, a man 
Most truly rich, I hold, although he may 
Have needed bread. 

As loyal as was he 
To his loved art, was Leon to the best 
Within himself. And by his loyalty 
In life to truth and beauty, even more 
Than by expression of them through his art. 
He blessed his fellowmen. We should be glad, 
We lesser ones whom God has not endowed 
With extraordinary faculties, 
That to be noble is more worthy far 
Than to voice noble things through noblest arts. 
For lowliest men may live lives true and good 
As highest men, and so be witnesses 
To One who is, forsooth, no more the God 
Of prophet or of poet than the God 
Of common men. The highest art of all 
Is life lived worthily ; and who o'ercomes 
The most in his attainment of the good, 
Is truest artist, though none name him so. 
Oft we forget, who to forgetfulness 
Are prone, the Lord reveals Himself to men 
Not always on the highest mountian top, 
Or while engaged in loftiest pursuits. 
To the great prophet Moses, in exile; 



140 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

To Gideon, threshing wheat by the wine-press; 

To David, tending sheep on Judea's hills, 

He came of old. And when the Son began 

His ministry on earth, the first He called 

To be His followers — called from the ships 

Upon the sea — were lowly fishermen. 

Thus, by the choice of His disciples, Christ, 

No less than by His teaching, dignified 

The labor of mankind. But He did more: 

From His God-height He stooped alow to serve, 

And by His serving glorified tasks done 

For love of men. Therefore, who serves the ^best 

And with most love, however lowly be 

His place in life, however humbly be 

His mind and heart endowed, is most like God. 

As God is in life's common places, so 

He speaks with clearness to us, oftentimes, 

Through our most commonplace experiences. 

We miss much joy and good through feeling He 

Is present only in the things that seem 

Great and divine. How quickly we would say: 

"The Lord is in this place, " if we could see, 

As saw the Israelites of old, the waves 

Divide, and form a wall on either side, 

For armies to pass through. And yet His power, 

Mysterious and mighty, is revealed 

As truly through the common and oft seen 

Phenomena of nature, as through things 

We name miraculous. We do not need — 

Or, rather, should not need — the fiery 

And grand convulsions of a Mount Pelee 

To bear strong witness to the living God. 

For, by the springs He sends into thevales ; 

By plenteous grasses that spring up, and clothe 

The earth with verdure, green and velvety ; 



DEATH 141 

By that perpetual transformation strange 

Of mineral into vegetable life;— 

The vegetable into animal, — 

(Dust transformed into man) — His handiwork 

Is shown, His glory wondrously declared. 

To recognize the Father, verily, 

As the true source and secret of all life ; 

To realize our being is in Him 

Not only for a little day on earth, 

But for all ages of eternity — 

Is, though in small degree, to comprehend 

His greatness and our own unworthiness. 

For what are we that great Jehovah should 

Stoop down to breathe into our bodies breath 

Eternal, calling us, with voice of power. 

From nothingness to largess of all life? 

And what are we that He should manifest 

Himself to us, if we but will to see. 

Not only in all places, low and high. 

But in the commonest experiences 

'Tis ours to know? Unto each life God speaks 

An individual message ; and He makes 

Each life, that to a likeness of the life 

Of Jesus is conformed, an instrument 

Through which He speaks to countless other lives. 

The life of none is voiceless while he dwells 

Upon the earth, or wholly echoless 

When he has passed to worlds beyond the grave. 

One who upon his bugle blows a blast. 

May still hear echoes, soft and musical, 

Borne far from distant hills unto his ears, 

E'en while his trumpet lies upon the ground. 

In silence, where he dropped it, at his feet. 

So the departed, whom the world calls dead, 

But who can never die unto the hearts 



142 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

That love them, touch and thrill our very souls 
With softest music ; music faintly heard, 
'Tis true, but full as sweet as that they made 
While using still their earthly instruments. 

Virginia's pure, sweet life made melody 
Long after she had passed to other worlds ; 
And one, at least, sang more in harmony 
With nature and mankind because her voice 
Had mingled with the voices of the earth, 
And echoed still through halls of memory. 
Just as a singer cannot sing, we know, 
More clearly and more truly, and not make 
The chorus more concordant, so not one 
Can strike a truer, higher chord in life. 
And not lead others to more true accord 
With all of life. Thus Leon, tuning his 
Life-song unto a sweeter, higher key. 
And singing truly — pausing not because 
He heard discordant notes arise sometimes 
From other throats — led many into song 
Of purer melody. So, through his love 
For her, the spirit of his bride called him. 
And through him, others, to a higher plane 
Whereon to dwell and sing while time should last. 

The "children's artist" who, with rare insight, 

Had painted oftentimes the little ones 

In childhood's every phase and attitude, 

At last came unavoidably to paint. 

As artists of all schools and countries have, 

The Child and the Madonna. Oft the face 

Of her the artist most adores on earth 

Is his ideal of Mary, and, therefore, 

From many a canvas eyes look into ours, 

Half dreamful, the original of which 



DEATH 143 

Looked love into the artist's ere, with pow'r, 

He executed that which lives today — 

A world-famed masterpiece. So Leon chose 

Virginia for his model, her sweet face 

And tender, soulful eyes expressing both 

The mother-love and purity of soul 

It was his wish sincerely to portray. 

In that glad little while — less than two years — 

They two had been together, he had sketched 

Her many times, in various attitudes. 

And yet among his drawings found but one, 

The only one quite suited to the end 

He had in view. And this he once had made, 

Unknown to her, as she one afternoon 

Sat in his studio, her eyes downbent 

Upon the dress her hands were fashioning 

For him she hoped, ere many weeks, to hold 

Against her breast. She smiled, and her dear face 

Seemed lit with radiance, as if even then 

Her babe, reflecting both sunlight and joy, 

Lay on her knees. Had the design been made 

Expressly for the end the artist wished, 

It scarcely had fulfilled more perfectly 

His lofty purpose, or with truth have been 

Adapted better to the olden theme 

He fain would tell anew. It was inspired. 

Hence worthy to become the central piece 

Of a creation all would name inspired,— 

Such as the rarely gifted Leon now 

Evolved and vivified. Though in the sketch 

Virginia's face was somewhat in the shade, 

'Twas in the picture glorified with light 

Irradiating from the babe she leaned 

To look upon, with loving interest. 

She needed not a halo to be named — 



144 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

In only one glance — Mary ; for her face 

Wore such a look of exaltation high, 

Though stamped with sweet and true humility, 

(As if she worshiped even while she served) 

One could but think of her God set apart 

To bear His Son. And mothers, who beheld 

The painting, felt the hearts within them bound 

In recognition of some truth they had 

Before not realized: some felt themselves 

Akin to Mary in the hope and pain. 

The joy and grief, all mothers know ; some looked 

Forever afterward on motherhood 

As something more divine than they had thought ; 

While others still, and these gained more than all, 

Within them said : ' ' Not only Mary was 

The mother of a little child of God ; 

All who are mothers here are mothers, too, 

Of children of the Father heavenly — 

Co-heirs with His beloved, elder Son. " 

Soon after this was to completion brought, 

The artist had a note from Julia, whom 

He had not met since she, some years before, 

Had scrupled not to look, without consent. 

Upon his picture. Thus, to his surprise. 

The missive ran : "You have not heard, perhaps, 

I marry in a fortnight one well known, 

Of noble rank: Lord Howe, of England. He, 

Unlike so many who have married here. 

Has wealth abundant, yet would many say 

I bought my title with the money earned 

By my first husband — an American. 

To guard against this, I leave here my all, 

Divided among friends and charities. 

And empty handed go to foreign shores. 

You'll laugh, perhaps, who know the history 



DEATH 145 

Of my first marriage, and avow : 'She wed 
One time for money ; now she scatters wealth, 
With careless hand, abroad, and weds — for what? ' 
For what, in truth, I know not. There are souls 
Bom undeniably to restlessness 
As butterflies that flit from flow'r to flow'r, 
Here sipping, tasting there, pausing to rest 
For but a little season here and there. 
Though you, who give your lives to art, teach 

much. 
You teach not souls like these, you cannot teach 
Such souls as these, the way to restfulness. 
When one such, feehng need of something strong 
To anchor to, is earnestly besought 
Of Love to lean on him, and weakly yields, 
Though she loves not, there're those to criticize, 
And question, scornfully, 'she weds — for what?' 

"But I forget, apparently, we two 

Are not the friends we were in olden times, 

When each unto the other freely spoke. 

And neither misconstrued the other's words. 

I only meant to say I leave with you. 

As one who'll use it well, for furtherance 

Of your large philanthropic purposes, 

Full half of my estate. Though I, alas! 

Have lived an idle and an aimless life, 

I have not been quite dead to good achieved 

By you and others; and, though well I know 

To give our money, and not give ourselves, 

To any cause, is to give sparingly. 

Yet I, unworthy as I truly am. 

Would give my wealth to be used worthily. 

'Tis yours ; accept and use it for the good 

Of humankind you so sincerely love ; 

And pray, if you have faith in prayer, for her 



146 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

Who found so little happiness in wealth, 
She feels she yields but nothing, yielding it. " 

The artist, feeling Julia had, perhaps, 
Thus acted on some impulse, thoughtlessly. 
And so might be induced to change her mind, 
Now went to see the lady in her home, 
Her to persuade. 

"It matters not," he said, 
"Should people say he married you for wealth. 
Or that, perchance, you purchased with your gold 
The right to be called Lady Julia Howe. 
If these things be not true, they touch you not, 
Nor ever can touch you. " 

' ' But we are touched, " 
She said, "where men are not; and he — Lord 

Howe — 
Prefers I freely should bestow my all, 
If it affords me pleasure so to do. 
He is no fortune-hunter : 'tis myself. 
And not my wealth, he weds. " 

She said this last 
With straightened form, almost defiantly, 
As one, whose love had been refused and scorned, 
Might cry: "He loves me well, though you do 

not!" 

So Leon took her money as a trust, — 
And gladly utilized it to assist 
Ambitious boys and girls, who yet were poor, 
To gain such education as they craved. 
That otherwise had been withheld from them. 

He lay one day within the shaded woods 
Near Laureldale. A picture stretched in sight 
Unlike that he with her, had looked upon 



DEATH 147 I 

Two decades and a half of years before. ' 

Where but a single residence then stood, 

And such outbuildings as to country life 

Were necessary, now a village thrived, ' 

In which, with their care-takers, orphans dwelt, , 

Up to the number of five score and more. 

The buildings, one by one, and each designed 

For beauty and for true utility, j 

Had risen on the grounds, till Leon now \ 

Looked on the glad fulfillment of a dream j 

Long cherished. Laureldale, the house in which 

Virginia had abided, he touched not, 

But left it as it was in her life-time, 

And put it to such service as to her 

Seemed an appropriate memorial. 

It was the hour the children left their tasks. 
And gave themselves to joyous play. To him, 
As he reclined, in a dreamy restfulness, 
Upon the fragrant straw beneath the pines. 
The sound of happy-hearted laughter came, 
And he, not knowing that he did so, smiled 
In sympathy. All seemed harmonious; 
No note of discord struck upon the ear. 
And no unsightly object met the eye. 
To mar the music and the loveliness 
Of a most perfect day. The man relaxed. 
And gave himself, in body and in mind. 
To full enjoyment of it. They knew not — 
Those little ones whose joyous laughter came 
O'er sunlit fields to him — that he was near. 
Or they had come, and forced him merrily 
To join their play. 

All seemed harmonious? i 

No note of discord ? 



148 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

"Ah!" The artist raised 
At once upon his elbow, peering deep 
Into the shadowed forest. Could it be 
His ear had played him false, or did he hear. 
Indeed, the piteous sobbing of a child? 
He heard it yet again, a sound as sad 
As laughter of gay little ones is glad ; 
And as, a moment since, unconsciously 
He smiled in sympathy with childish joy, 
His heart was touched with pity now because 
Some little child — he knew not whom — was 

grieved. 
Involuntarily and noiselessly 
The man arose, and went, with hurrying steps. 
O'er velvety pine needles, through the woods, 
Until he came upon a lad who lay. 
Face downward, on the ground, and shook with 

sobs. 
A dark, Italian boy, of fifteen years. 
With pretty, wistful eyes that always seemed 
To look beyond the things revealed to them 
To things desired, he had for long appealed 
To Ivcon, but so timid he appeared, 
And so aloof he held himself from all. 
One came not easily to know the child. 
The artist now beside him softly knelt. 
And laid a cool hand on his burning brow. 
Whereat the lad, ashamed and startled, shrank, 
And then, with sad and tear- wet eyes, looked up. 
When he thus learned 'twas Leon at his side. 
His sorrow suddenly to anger changed. 
And, quickly sitting up, he shrilly cried. 
His declaration boldly emphasized 
By the accusing finger he outstretched: 
"That picture, that you painted, is not true !" 



DEATH 149 

The man now saw, some distance from the boy, 
A box of colors, and near it, some sheets 
Of drawing paper, which were covered o'er 
With drawings. These, he noticed, although 

crude. 
Were promising for one untaught, and young. 
He did not speak of these, but gently asked : 
"What picture, child? I know not what you 

mean." 

"That picture, where an angel from the skies 
Came down to teach somebody how to paint," 
The boy replied, with passion. "For I know 
If angels could teach people, mother would 
Come down from heaven, " now his lips again 
Were quivering with sorrow, "to teach me 
To paint a lovely picture. Yes, she would !" 

"Who told you that the angel taught the man 
What he should paint?" 

"Why, one day, " said the child, 
Forgetting his timidity, "we went — 
We larger children — to your studio 
To see the lovely things. Our teacher told 
Us many things about them, and she said 
The angel showed the man just what to paint. 
So, when we came back to the orphanage, 
I got some colors, so that I could paint. 
For I see lovely pictures in the night 
When everybody is asleep but me, 
Or when I'm in the woods, all by myself; 
But no good angel came to show me how. 
Then, after that, Miss Agnes told us once 
A pretty story of the holy grail, 
That none could see except the pure in heart. 
I thought it might be so with angels, too ; 



150 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 

That maybe they will stay away from those 

Who are not good, — who do and think bad things, 

And so I've been as good as I could be 

A long, long time ; and I came here today 

To try to paint. But oh, " and he began 

Again to sob, ' ' that picture is not true — 

It is not true!" 

"Now, listen to me, Alf : 
Who would expect an angel to come down 
To teach the Alphabet? Yet when we've learned 
To make use of the letters, and know well 
How both to read and write, we may transcribe 
Some thought so worthy, all who read it feel 
'Twas heaven sent. And so with every art: 
Who would be artists, must be taught of men 
As well as angels ; they must get their tools. 
And learn to use them well, ere they begin 
To look for inspiration from on high. " 

At that the boy ceased crying, and looked up, 
A new light in his earnest, wistful eyes. 
"Then is the picture true?" he softly asked. 

"Aye, true, dear child ! As true as anything 
Life has revealed to me, and truly life. 
Through gladness and through grief, has taught 
me much. " 

He then took up a sketch the child had made, 
And looked at it. 

"I'll teach you, Alf, " he said, 
"The art you love ; and when you've gone as far 
As I can carry you, we'll send you off 
To foreign lands, for you, my boy, must do 
More noble things in art than I have done. 
And must be well prepared for your life-work. 



DEATH 151 

But tell me, Alf— I knew not you loved art — 
How long have you thus wished to learn to paint ? ' 

"Just from the day I saw that picture, Sir; 
But, oh, since then I've wished it every day, 
And more than all beside ! ' ' 

If he* spoke truth 
Who said the worthiest effect of art 
Is to make artists, in awakening 
A soul from slumber, Leon had acheived 
The best and highest that an artist may. 

From out the shadow of the darkening woods 

Into the radiance of the setting sun. 

The two walked hand in hand toward Laureldale. 

To look upon the house Virginia long 

Dwelt in, touched not the spirit of the man 

To melancholy. She whom he had loved — 

Whom still he loved — to him had never died ; 

Her earthly fetters broken, she, in truth. 

Had but ascended to a higher sphere, 

To be, with Christ, "alive forevermore. " 

^Emerson. 



